"Oh, I'm all right. I get my work over in the morning."
Now he, too, sat down, at the opposite side of the table. Clearing his throat, Dove gazed at the sinner before him. He began to see that his errand was not going to be an easy one; where no hint was taken, it was difficult to insert even the thinnest edge of the wedge. He resolved to use finesse; and, for several of the precious moments at his disposal, he talked, as if at random, of other things.
Maurice tapped the table. He kept his eyes fixed on Dove's face, as though he were drinking in his companion's solemn utterances. In reality, whole minutes passed without his knowing what was said. At Dove's knock, he had been certain that a message had come from Louise—at last. This was the night of the ball; and still she had given him no promise that she would not go. They had parted, the evening before, after a bitter quarrel; and he had left her, vowing that he would not return till she sent for him. He had waited the whole day, in vain, for a sign. What was Dove with his pompous twaddle to him? Every slight sound on the stairs or in the passage meant more. He was listening, listening, without cessation.
When he came back to himself, he heard Dove droning on, like a machine that has been wound up and cannot stop.
"Now, I hope you won't mind my saying so," were the next words that pierced his brain. "You must not be offended at my telling you; but you are hardly fulfilling the expectations we, your friends, you know, had formed of you. My dear fellow, you really must pull yourself together, or February will find you still unprepared."
Maurice went a shade paler; he was clear, now, as to the object of Dove's visit. But he answered in an off-hand way. "Oh, there's time enough yet."
"No. That's a mistaken point of view, if I may say so," replied Dove in his blandest manner. "Time requires to be taken by the forelock, you know."
"Does it?" Maurice allowed the smile that was expected of him to cross his face.
"Most emphatically—And we fellow-students of yours are not the only people who have noticed a certain—what shall I say?—a certain abatement of energy on your part. Schwarz sees it, too—or I am much mistaken."
"What?—he, too?" said Maurice, and pretended a mild surprise. For some seconds now he had been mentally debating with himself whether he should not, there and then, show Dove the door. He decided against it. A "Damn your interference!" meant plain-speaking, on both sides; it meant a bandying of words; and more expenditure of strength than he had to spare for Dove. Once more he drew out and consulted his watch.