She looked in concern at him, then turned aside.
“Breakfast is quite ready,” she said.
“And I for breakfast—but shall I do?”
She glanced at him. He was without a collar, so his throat was bare above the neck-band of his flannel shirt. Altogether she disapproved of his slovenly appearance. He was usually so smart in his dress.
“I would not trouble,” she said almost sarcastically.
Whistling, he threw the towel on a chair.
“How did you sleep?” she asked gravely, as she watched him beginning to eat.
“Like the dead—solid,” he replied”. “And you?”
“Oh, pretty well, thanks,” she said, rather piqued that he had slept so deeply, whilst she had tossed, and had called his name in a torture of sleeplessness.
“I haven’t slept like that for years,” he said enthusiastically. Helena smiled gently on him. The charm of his handsome, healthy zest came over her. She liked his naked throat and his shirt-breast, which suggested the breast of the man beneath it. She was extraordinarily happy, with him so bright. The dark-faced pansies, in a little crowd, seemed gaily winking a golden eye at her.