"Louisa," said her father gently, "I don't think you'll be doing any good, dear. A man must act as he thinks best."
"I'm not," she replied, "going to interfere with Luke's plans. I only want to speak to him. Don't bother, Edie. I know my way."
CHAPTER XXXIII
IF YOU WOULD ONLY LET YOURSELF GO
Luke was sitting at a desk, writing, when Louisa entered his room. Only one lamp shaded with yellow silk hung above the desk, throwing golden light on paper and blotting pad and on the hand which held the pen.
When Luke turned at the sound of the opening door his face remained in deep shadow. He could not of course see her distinctly, as her figure was silhouetted against the light in the passage behind her; that was no doubt the reason why he did not rise to greet her when she entered, but remained seated at his desk.
"May I come in, Luke?" she asked.
"Certainly," he replied. "I was just writing to you."
"Then give me your unfinished letter, and tell me what else you were going to write."
"Oh! I had only got as far as your name," he said, pointing to the empty page before him.