“Don't be so literal, my dear; of course you are, but not for this sort of picture.” The assurance sounded perfunctory.
“Thank goodness, here comes the tea,” he exclaimed as Lily entered with the tray. “Hullo, Lily; how goes it?”
“Fine, Mr. Byrd, but we've shorely missed you,” she answered, with something less than her usual wholehearted smile.
“Well, you must rejoice, now that the prodigal has returned,” he grinned. “Mary, you haven't answered my question yet—when are you coming in to see the picture? Why not to-morrow? I'm dying to show it to you.”
She flushed. “I can't come, Stefan; it's impossible to leave Baby so long.”
“Well, bring him with you.”
“That wouldn't be possible, either; it would disturb his sleep, and upset him.”
“There you are!” he exclaimed, ruffling his hair. “I can't work down here, and you can't come to town—how can I help seeming to neglect you? Look here”—he had drunk his tea at a gulp, and now held out his cup for more—“if you're lonely, why not move back to the city—then you could keep your eye on me!” and he grinned again.
For some time Mary had feared this suggestion—she had not yet discussed with Stefan her desire to stay in the country. She pressed her hands together nervously.
“Stefan, do you really want me to move back?”