Then a question came, not in his usual voice. "Ethel, what is the matter?"
"Is—anything?" she asked, with an audacious attempt at a smile.
"Yes."
Ethel found her lips quivering, and she straightened herself, resolute not to give way. "Oh, just the common worries of life."
"I wish I could bear them for you."
"That wouldn't be fair, You have enough of your own;" and she laughed huskily, biting those unruly lips.
Nigel was silent again, thinking. He could not yet make up his mind whether or no to say more. To detain her, he drew from his pocket-book a little folded paper.
"I don't know whether you will care to have this. I promised to make a copy," he said.
"A copy of—"
"Don't you remember the extracts I carried off? I don't want to part with them—" a pause, followed by an emphatic "ever!" and another pause. "But I have had this copy by me to give to you; only there has been no chance."