"Beautifully! Turn it, please."
"I hope to Heaven I shan't drop it! There you are! I knew I should."
"Well, you can keep that one for yourself," said Nell, laughing.
He listened to the laugh, with his head a little on one side.
"I like to hear that," he said, almost to himself, "though, sometimes, I wonder how you can do it—you, who must always be longing for the fresh air—for the country."
Nell winced.
"What is the use of longing for that which one cannot have?" she said lightly, but checking a sigh.
He looked at her quickly, strangely, and a faint dash of color rose to his pale face.
"That's true philosophy, at any rate," he said, in a low voice; "but, all the same, one can't help longing sometimes."
As he spoke, he stole a glance at the beautiful face; and, in looking, forgot the toast, which promptly showed its resentment of his neglect by "catching," and filling the apartment with the smell of scorched bread.