"Mayn't I talk about the thing I'm thinking about? How can I help it?"
Her smile, indulgent to him, pleaded for herself also.
"It is horribly hard not to, isn't it? That's why I've told all about it, I suppose."
Stephen Aikenhead, after the shake of his head, had drifted into the house, seeking a fresh fill for his pipe. He found the evening post in and, having nothing in the world else to do, brought out a letter to Mrs. Maxon.
"For you," he said, making a sudden and somewhat disconcerting appearance at her elbow. He puffed steadily, holding the letter out to Winnie, while he looked at his friend Godfrey with a kindly if quizzical regard.
"Good gracious, Stephen!"
"Well, I always like letters worth a 'Good gracious,' Winnie."
"Hobart Gaynor's coming here to-morrow."
"Don't know the gentleman. Friend of yours? Very glad to see him."
"Coming from—from Cyril!"