"I'm busier than I used to be. Since the robbery I've taken over a good deal of the housekeeping. Mrs. Janney has been much more upset than you guess."
"And you're so withdrawn, keep more to yourself. I used to find you about when I came over; now I almost never see you."
The interview had taken on the character of a verbal duel, he thrusting, she parrying, both earnest and insistent.
"I've just told you; I have more work, I've not the leisure I used to have."
"So busy you have to shun people?"
"That's absurd, you imagine it. I've never shunned any one and there's no reason why I should."
"I agree with you but let me ask one more question. You say your work is harder and you do look tired and worn out. Why don't you take a decent rest on your holidays? Last year you spent them here, out of doors, loafing about. Now you go to town. I've been over twice on Thursdays and when I ask for you, always hear you're in the city. And you've been at other times too—Mrs. Janney told me so. It's the most fatiguing thing you can do in this hot weather. Why do you go?"
He saw her color suddenly deepen. She had let the knitting drop to her lap and now she took it up again and began to work, very fast, the needles flashing in her white hands. She smiled as she answered:
"You seem to have kept rather a sharp look-out on me, Mr. Ferguson. Did it never occur to you that a woman might need clothes, or might want to see a friend who happened to be staying in town for the summer?"
The young man had been admiring the white hands. As she spoke something in their movements caught and held his eye—they were trembling. He was so surprised that he made no answer, his glance riveted on them trying to hold the needles steady to their task. Miss Maitland made an effort to go on, then dropped the knitting in a bunch on her knees and clasped the hands over it. Neither speaking, their eyes met. The expression of hers, furtively apprehensive like a scared child's pierced his heart and he leaned toward her, his sunburned face full of concern: