“I—I have been busy,” he said. “Old papers and—and letters. Where have you been, and what have you been doing?”
He did not look at her or he would have seen the color which suffused her face and noticed the suddenly downcast eyes.
“I have been to the meadows, Jeffrey. I—I want to tell you something.”
“Yes,” he said, tying the letters together in a bundle, and folding up a couple of yellow, time-stained papers. “What is it? What is the time? I—I have been sitting here so long that I’ve forgotten.” He looked at his old-fashioned watch, and rising hastily, put the bundle of letters in a box that stood on the table. “It is time for the rehearsal; are you ready? I shall not be a moment.”
“Yes, I am quite ready; but there is plenty of time, Jeffrey, and I want to tell you—have you forgotten those papers? Are you not going to lock them up with the others,” and she pointed to them.
He snatched them up almost jealously.
“No, no,” he said. “I keep them—here!” and he placed them with a nervous carefulness in a pocket within the breast of his waistcoat. “I—I meant to show you to-day, Doris. I have been going to show them to you for—” he sighed—“years. But I’ve put it off from day to day, from year to year. They belong to you, and you shall have them—to-morrow, say to-morrow.”
Doris started slightly. It was to-morrow that Lord Neville was coming to see Jeffrey; perhaps he would give them to Lord Neville!
“How well you look this morning,” he said suddenly, his eyes resting for a moment upon her lovely face with their old keenness. “Those meadows, as you call them, must be wonderfully healthy. Where is my hat?”
She got it for him, and as she gave it to him she let her hand fall lightly upon his arm.