"It won't hurt her," said Willie Ruston. "And she likes it."
She liked it beyond question.
"It tires her," Harry persisted. "It—it gets on her nerves. It absorbs her too much."
His face was turned up to Ruston. As he spoke the last words, Ruston directed his eyes, suddenly and rapidly, upon him. Harry could not escape the encounter of eyes; hastily he averted his head, and his face flushed. Ruston continued to look at him, a slight smile on his lips.
"Absorbs her?" he repeated slowly, fingering his beard.
"Well, you know what I mean."
Another long stare showed Ruston's meditative preoccupation. Harry sat uncomfortable under it, wishing he had not let fall the word.
"Well, I'll be careful," said Ruston at last. "Anything else?"
Harry rose. Ruston carried an atmosphere of business about with him, and the visit seemed naturally to end with the business of it. Taking his hat, Harry moved towards the door. Then, pausing, he smiled in an embarrassed way, and remarked,
"You can talk to Marjory Valentine, you know."