Fitz was looking at her with his impenetrable simplicity.
“Will you oblige me,” he said, “by continuing to look upon me in that light?”
She had bent her head rather far over her work as he spoke, and as he said the last five words her breath seemed to come with a little catch, as if she had pricked her finger.
The musicians were just finishing a brilliant performance, and before answering Fitz she looked round into the other room, nodded, smiled, and thanked them. Then she turned to him, still speaking in the light and rather indifferent tone which was so new to him, and said -
“Thank you very much, but of course I have my uncle. How--how long will you be--staying on shore? You deserve a long leave, do you not?”
“Yes, I suppose I do,” said Fitz absently. He had evidently listened more to the voice than the words. He forgot to answer the question. But she repeated it.
“How long do you get?” she asked, hopelessly conversational.
“About three weeks.”
“Is that all? Ah! here is tea. I wonder whether I ought to offer to pour it out!”
But Mrs. Harrington left the piano, and said that her sight was failing her. She had had enough music.