Then she came back to her seat, and took out some work.
"You are not going to work to-night?" he said, leaning his elbows on the table and his head upon his hands—small, white, delicate hands, to match the face.
"This is only make-believe," she said. "Don't you know the old proverb about idle hands?" And she laughed.
He started, and his face paled.
Stella wondered what she had said to affect him, and hurried on.
"I can't sit still and do nothing, can you?"
"Yes, for hours," he said, with a smile; "I am awfully idle, but I must get better habits; I must follow your example. I mean to read while I'm down here—read hard, don't you know. Shall I begin to-night?" he asked, his eyes upon her with almost slavish intentness.
"Not to-night," she said, with a laugh; "you must be tired. You have come from London, haven't you?"
"Yes," he said; "and I am rather tired. I would rather sit and watch you, if you don't mind."
She shook her head.