He hesitated for a moment, then seeing the shade upon her face, he stepped forward briskly.
“I should like to come very much,” he said, “only you must be sure to send me away if I stay too long. You are tired already.”
“I am tired,” she admitted, leading the way upstairs, “only it will rest me much more to have you talk to me than to go to bed. Mine is scarcely a physical fatigue. My nerves are all quivering. I could not sleep! Tell me where you have been.”
Matravers took the seat to which she motioned him, and obeyed her, watching, whilst she stooped down over the fire and poured water into a brazen coffee-pot, and took another cup and saucer from a quaint little cupboard. She made the coffee carefully and well, and Matravers, as he lit his cigarette, found himself wondering at this new and very natural note of domesticity in her.
Matravers found himself wondering at this new and very natural note of domesticity in her
All the time he was talking, telling her in a few chosen sentences of the little tour for which she really was responsible—of the pink-and-white apple-blossoms of Brittany, of the peasants in their quaint and picturesque garb, and of the old time-worn churches, the exploration of which had constituted his chief interest. She listened eagerly; every word of his description, so vivid and picturesque, was interesting. When he had finished, he looked at her thoughtfully.
“You too,” he said, “need a change! You have worked very hard, and you will need all your strength for the autumn season.”
“I am going away,” she said, “very soon. Perhaps to-morrow.”