“Has he come?” she asked, as he bent over her fingers.
Saton’s face clouded.
“Yes!” he answered. “He came last night. To tell you the truth, he has just gone away in a temper. I do not know whether he will return to the house or not.”
“Why?” she asked quickly.
Saton laughed to cover his annoyance.
“He does not approve of the luxury of my surroundings,” he answered. “He declined to write at my desk, or to sit in my room.”
“I don’t wonder at it,” she answered. “You know how he worships simplicity.”
“Simplicity!” Saton exclaimed. “You should see the place where he writes himself. There is no carpet upon the floor, a block of wood for a writing-table, a penny bottle of ink, and a gnawed and bitten penholder only an inch or two long.”
Pauline nodded.