"Oh, that of course. They were ready to weep on my neck with joy that I had brought the dear little plague back to them, and I don't doubt are rejoicing over him at this moment. But, oh, Harry, you must hear the girls' Paris letters."
"Are they very long?" said Harry.
"Fie now, Harry; you ought to be interested in the girls."
"Why, of course I am," said Harry, pulling out his watch, "only—what time is it?"
"Only half-past ten—not a bit late," said Eva. As she began to read Ida's letter, Harry settled back in the embrace of a luxurious chair, with his feet stretched out towards the fire, and gradually the details of Paris life mingled pleasingly with a dream—a fact of which Eva was made aware as she asked him suddenly what he thought of Ida's views on a certain point.
"Now, Harry—you haven't been asleep?"
"Just a moment. The very least in the world," said Harry, looking anxiously alert and sitting up very straight.
Then Eva read Caroline's letter.
"Now, isn't it too bad?" she said, with eagerness, as she finished.
"Yes, it's one of those things that you and I can do nothing to help—it is αναγκη [Greek: anagkê]."