"Shall I light the lamp?" she asked.
It was not Travers who answered. A familiar voice struck on her ears, like the memories, ringing out a dangerous response from her tired soul.
"Forgive me, Mrs. Travers. I met your husband this afternoon, and he told me to drop in unannounced, as he would be alone. It seems the other way about. I am very sorry to seem so rude."
Lois rose quickly to her feet. She saw Nicholson standing in the doorway, tall, upright, his face hidden by the shadow.
"I won't disturb you," he added, after a moment's hesitation.
The tone of formality hurt her. With a return of her old impulsiveness, she began searching for the matches.
"You are not disturbing me," she said. "On the contrary, I—was expecting you. Archibald told me you were coming, but I forgot to light up. I was twilight-dreaming, if there is such a term."
She laughed with a forced cheerfulness, and he made no answer. The little red-shaded lamp gave her some trouble, and when she looked up she saw that he was standing opposite her, the light falling on a broad scar across his forehead.
"How the burn shows to-night!" she exclaimed involuntarily. "Will you never lose it?"
"Never," he answered. "I do not want to. When I am depressed, I look at it, and remember that I have done one thing worth doing in my life."