“They were difficult for me, my dear,” said he, looking up. Their eyes met, and she smiled gently, lovingly. He took her firm, steady hand and pressed it to his cheek..
“I think I'll run in and shoo him off to bed. If only he wouldn't smoke that dreadful pipe while he studies. He breathes nothing but smoke.”
“Doesn't hurt him a bit,” said he. “They've got sheet-iron lungs, you see,—these sophomores.”
She left him and went down to her son's room. Carstairs was staring fixedly, intently into space when she returned,—he knew not how long afterwards. He came out of his reverie with a start when she spoke to him from the door.
“Alfie is going out for a breath of fresh air,” she said. “It seemed to me his room was stuffier and smokier than I've ever known it to be before. Really, dear, he is dreadfully trying. He—”
“My dear, you've never been a boy,” said he, collecting himself and smiling. “You don't know what it is to be completely self-satisfied.”
“I'll be back in a few minutes,” said Alfred, coming up behind his mother. “Are you going to sit up much longer, mother?”
“A little while. Hurry back, dear. Don't go out without your overcoat. There is quite a chill in the air.”