The feeling of resentment died away, but I doubted if she
could be made to look at it in the same light. I glanced across to
where she sat, the gray dawn giving me clear view. Her head rested
back upon one arm, and she was asleep. Uncomfortable as she looked,
she was still resting, the tired lines of her face less noticeable. I
had no heart to awaken her, and remained motionless, thinking it all
over carefully in detail.
We remained undisturbed, our settee removed from the main pathway,
along which a few early workmen passed. She was the very one to act
the part of Philip Henley's wife, if she would consent. Her
refinement, the clear innocence of her face, would be convincing, and I
began already to long for her company. Yet she would have to be told
every detail, convinced the apparent fraud was justifiable. I rather
dreaded the look in her eyes when she first heard the proposal, and her
questioning me. While I still hesitated, fearful of refusal, the sun
shining upon her face awoke her suddenly. She straightened up
instantly, but her eyes smiled as they met mine.
"I was asleep," she said in surprise. "For how long?"
"Nearly two hours."
"And you have sat there quietly all that time?"
"That is nothing. I was tired, but not sleepy.
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