"What a waste of time it has been this evening!" He sighed, as his
fingers turned over the pile of letters by his side. "What with Mr.
Peter Dale and his little deputation, and this idiotic person Graveling,
I have scarcely done a thing since I got home."
"There's nothing that you need do until to-morrow," she told him softly.
There was another brief pause. She was sitting up now—leaning back in her chair, indeed—trembling no longer, although the colour still flamed in her cheeks. Her eyes, which seldom left his face, were strangely, almost liquidly soft. Maraton moved restlessly in his place. Perhaps he had been unwise not to have stolen out of the room during the first few moments. Julia, as he very well knew, was no ordinary person, and he felt a sense of growing uneasiness. The tension of silence became ominous and he spoke simply to dissipate it.
"I hope I really didn't hurt the fellow."
"If you had killed him," she replied, "he deserved it!"
"He was an insulting beast, of course," Maraton continued. "After all, though, one mustn't bring oneself down to the level of these creatures. He saw with his eyes, and what is seen from that point of view isn't of any account. Perhaps it isn't his fault that he hasn't learnt to govern himself. If I were you, Julia, I wouldn't bother about it any more, really."
"It wasn't altogether what he said," she whispered. "It wasn't altogether that."
He looked at her enquiringly.
"You mean?"
She shook her head.