"So I did," he said. "I had forgotten. And you are quite right; the letters ought not to be left about where any one can see them. However," he added, sitting down at his writing table and beginning to look through the top drawer, "it all makes my way plainer. It is positively necessary to have a study where need not be disturbed."
"Why not have dinner in the drawing-room on the days you are at home in the mornings," said Rachel, anxious to help him.
"Oh no, I could not think of that. What I feel I must do is to get a room somewhere; in the house, for instance, where my mother lodges. I must manage it somehow."
Rachel standing by his side while he sorted his papers was quite silent. It was all that she could do not to cry out, "Oh Luke, why are you so blind; why do you hurt me so?" As it was, she stood perfectly still and silent.
The days on which Luke wrote his sermons were red letter days. She loved to sit near him and work; and she had had the impression that the sense of her presence helped him. She had told him once that she sat praying for him as he wrote, and he had kissed her as his thanks. Evidently she had been mistaken; he would prefer to be alone. And why, oh why should he choose to find a room in his mother's house? It would be the beginning of seeing far less of him than ever. Of course his mother would persuade him to stay to dinner with her if his next duty was near her rooms; and it would be only human nature for her to discuss his wife with him and to hint that she was incapable. But she put this thought away from her at once. She was so certain that Luke would not discuss her with anyone, even with his mother.
Her perfect silence made Luke look round, and the expression on her face perplexed him. He covered the hand that lay on the back of his chair with his own, saying remorsefully:
"I'm afraid, dearest, I was a little sharp just now. You must forgive me. You were perfectly right to tidy away my papers; but you will understand that it would be easier for me if I had a room where I could leave them about and find them easily. Besides," he said, "I want more time for private prayer and a place where I cannot be interrupted. My work is suffering for want of this."
"I see," said Rachel. She tried to smile, but failed. "I so love being with you when you write your sermons," she added.
"And I have loved to have you. But the work must come first; and I am convinced that for every reason it will be better to have a room quite to myself." He turned round again to finish sorting his papers.
Rachel came to a sudden determination.