He stopped, and sat, silently, with the book in front of him. The half-light in the room spread into a circle of pale rose-colour immediately round the window; the night sky was of the deepest blue.
To Maradick it was as though the place itself had spoken. The colour of the day had taken voice and whispered to him.
“Thank you,” he said. “That’s very beautiful. Would you lend it to me some time?”
“Delighted,” said Lester. “You can have it now if you like. Take it with you. The whole play won’t keep you more than half an hour. I have his other things, if you care to look at them.”
Maradick went off to dress with the book under his arm.
When he came down to the drawing-room he found Mrs. Lester there alone. Only one lamp was lit and the curtains were not drawn, so that the dusky sky glowed with all its colours, blue and gold and red, beyond the windows.
When he saw Mrs. Lester he stopped for a moment at the door. The lamplight fell on one cheek and some dark bands of her hair, the rest of her face was in shadow. She smiled when she saw him.
“Ah! I’m so glad that you’ve come down before the rest. I’ve been wanting to speak to you all day and there has been no opportunity.”
“Your husband has been showing me a wonderful play by that Irishman, Synge,” he said. “I hadn’t heard of him. I had no idea——”
She laughed. “You’ve struck one of Fred’s pet hobbies,” she said; “start him on Synge and he’ll never stop. It’s nice for a time—at first, you know; but Synge for ever—well, it’s like living on wafers.”