She turned away and sat down, clasping her hands on her knee, and he saw that suddenly her lashes were wet, and thought that it was very like her that, though she had no tears for herself, she had them for him.
"Don't be afraid that I will ask you any questions," she said. "I won't. You never asked me any. Perhaps words would not do you any good."
"Nothing would do me any good just now," he answered. "Let it go at that. It mayn't be as bad as it seems just for the moment—such things seldom are. If it gets really worse, I suppose I shall find myself coming to you some day to make my plaint; but it's very good in you to look at me like that. And I was a fool to fancy I wanted to be serious. I don't, on the whole."
"No, you were not a fool," she said. "There is no reason why you should not be what you want. Laurence," with something like sudden determination in her tone, "there is something I want to say to you."
"What is it?" he asked.
"I have got into a bad habit lately," she said,—"a bad habit of thinking. When I lie awake at night"—
"Do you lie awake at night?" he interrupted.
She turned her face a little away, as if she did not wish to meet his inquiring gaze.
"Yes," she answered, after a pause. "I suppose it is because of this—habit. I can't help it; but it doesn't matter."