On seeing who her visitor was, Madeleine rose with alacrity from the writing-table.
"Maurice! Is it really you?"
"I was passing. I thought I would run up ... you're surprised to see me?"
"Oh, well—you're a stranger now, you know."
She was vexed with herself for showing astonishment. Moving some books, she made room for him to sit down on the sofa, and, as he was moody, and seemed in no hurry to state why he had come, she asked if she might finish the letter she was writing.
"Make yourself comfortable. Here's a cushion for your head."
Through half-closed eyes, he watched her hand travelling across the sheet of note-paper, and returning at regular intervals, with a sure swoop, to begin a fresh line. There was no sound except the gentle scratching of her pen.
Madeleine did not look up till she had finished her letter and addressed the envelope. Maurice had shut his eyes.
"Are you asleep?" she roused him. "Or only tired?"
"I've a headache."