Marie was upstairs, sick in bed with rheumatism, too feeble to move without help. But to confess this fact to him would be almost to force him to stay. As welcome a relief as it would be to have him remain until she had administered the medicine once more, she shrank from placing him in a position where he would have no alternative.
She roused herself from the temptation and extended her hand.
"Thank you is a weak phrase for all you 've done," she said.
"It is enough."
He took the hand but he did not say good night. So she withdrew it, her cheeks a bit redder, her eyes, a trick they had when brilliant, growing silver.
He had been studying her keenly, and now removing his overcoat, he said decidedly,
"I shall stay a little longer."
She seemed to hesitate a moment, meeting his eyes quite frankly. Then, with a little sigh of relief she stepped into the library.