He looked at her in wonder. "Why?" he asked.
"It was merely an idea," she replied, blushing, and secretly grieved that he did not understand. But it was no time to enter into those plans which were the fruit of many consultations with Mr. Hacket. "It's getting late; good-night, my dear boy. I know you'll try to please me." She kissed him, and, with Paula, left the room.
Left alone, he paced up and down the long room, nervously biting a cigar which he forgot to light. He knew he would be unable to pass in sleep the hours that must elapse before he could see Natalie. He was filled with forebodings; the vague fears which had tempted him to send an absurd telegraphic message to Natalie had troubled him since he had first recognized their presence and had grown in strength with each new day. He was unaware that presentiments and feelings "in the bones," once supposed to be the laughable delusions of old ladies and nervous younger ones, were now being regarded with respectful attention as a part of the things undreamed of in Horatio's philosophy; and, taking his attitude after the old fashion, he had reasoned with that being which man calls "himself," and, for the edification of "himself," had shown to that personage the childishness of indulging in vague and ungrounded fears. But without success. Philosophers have discovered that which old ladies always knew, that all explanations of the wherefore of these mental vagaries are unsatisfactory as long as the vagaries persist; and while they do, they vex the wise and foolish alike.
His musings were disturbed by the entrance of Paula, clad in a ravishing tea-gown, a dainty fragment of humanity. "Mark," she said, "what is the matter?" for she had been quick to notice and had been startled by the gloom of his face.
"Tired, Paula," and he smiled. Somehow Paula always made him smile.
"If I were tired, I would go to bed," she observed with a faint touch of sarcasm. "I won't advise bed to you, for I know that you do not credit me with much sense."
"Yet it is plain that you have more than I, since you have indicated the sensible course," he answered pleasantly. "That should be placing you in high esteem, since we all think well of ourselves."
"Forgive me," she said with real sorrow for her petulance, for which she perhaps could have given no reason; "but I have seen that you were troubled——"
"And like a dear little sister you overflow with sympathy. Was there ever anybody kinder or better than you? But the real fact is that I am simply tired—yet not sleepy."
"Well"—she sighed wistfully—"you will feel rested to-morrow. I came down to give you this from Natalie," handing him a note. "I would have waited until morning, but I——"