Everet is still flushed, and there is some emotion in his voice.
"The servant told me to await you here—that you were not down yet."
"I have a very stupid servant—I always have to give him the most explicit instructions; and then he does not always comprehend. Will you sit here by the fire?"
They draw near the fire together. She seats herself on a low ottoman; he sits in the cozy chair.
"It must be very cold to-night. I have shivered all the afternoon, notwithstanding the hot fire we have kept."
She leans toward him, and makes an attempt to reach the scarf she threw with careful carelessness on the chair when she entered the room a while ago. She is compelled to lean very near him—and yet cannot quite reach it.
He places it about her shoulders—the lace catches on a pin in her hair, and Everet carefully disentangles it. When he has succeeded, he makes the remark that she is not well—that she is feverish. She laughs a little nervously:
"I—I am very well."
Her tone belies her words. Everet looks at her anxiously:
"You are not well. Tell me what it is."