Thayer, meanwhile, had risen and was thoughtfully pacing the room. Miss Gannion shook off the last of her reverie and turned to watch him.
"What is it, Mr. Thayer?" she inquired suddenly.
He came back to the fire and, deliberately moving the trinkets on the mantel, made a place for his elbow. Then he hesitated, with his clear, deep-set eyes resting on her face.
"I think I am going to ask your advice," he said slowly.
"Or my approval. It amounts to the same thing in a man."
It was a direct challenge, and it was made with deliberate intention. Accustomed as she was to the semi-imaginary mental crises of struggling, strenuous youth, she yet shrank from the intentness of Thayer's mood.
He ignored the challenge.
"No; it is advice whether to act at all. Later, when I have acted, it will be time to demand your approval."
"But you may not like my advice."
"Very possibly. I am not binding myself to follow it."