Sophia was charmed with his readiness to take her idea up.
‘At last, and at last!’ she cried. ‘Oh, Petros, my soul is sick for roulette!’
‘Poor dear Sophia,’ said he, ‘and I am afraid you find me grown very dull. But it is true you have every reason to find me dull; I am so taken up with these public affairs, that the work has become a passion to me. In my little way, I have tried to fulfil these duties; at first, I allow, with distaste, but the performance of them has brought its own reward.’
‘Ah, copy-books—copy-books!’ cried Sophia, laying her hands laughingly on his shoulder.
‘Copy-books—even so, Sophia,’ he said. ‘The proper study of mankind is man, and it is better to be useful than to be clever. I am full of such thoughts. And it is dull for you. Would that I could do more, however.’
‘You are a dear, good man, Petros,’ she said, ‘and I am delighted with you.’
‘I have done my best,’ he said, with a quiet dignity and an extreme sincerity of manner.
He glanced for a moment at a bundle of papers he held in his hand.
‘No, no,’ cried Sophia; ‘you shall not attend to any more business to-night. What are those papers? Throw them into the grate, and talk to me about the casino.’
The man had his part at the finger-tips.