'I—I—don't sleep very well,' he admitted, 'but otherwise I assure you I feel all right.'
It was the second time she had manifested concern for his health. The blood coursed deliciously in his veins; a thrill ran through his whole form. The gentle, anxious face seemed to grow angelic. Could she really care if his health gave way? Again he felt a rush of self-pity that filled his eyes with tears. He was grateful to her for sharing his sense of the empty cheerlessness of his existence. He wondered why it had seemed so full and cheery just before.
'And you used to sleep so well,' said Esther slyly, remembering Addie's domestic revelations. 'My stupid manuscript should come in useful.'
'Oh, forgive my stupid joke!' he said remorsefully.
'Forgive mine!' she answered. 'Sleeplessness is too terrible to joke about. Again I speak as one who knows.'
'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that!' he said, his egoistic tenderness instantly transformed to compassionate solicitude.
'Never mind me—I am a woman and can take care of myself. Why don't you go over to Norway and join Mr. Graham?'
'That's quite out of the question,' he said, puffing furiously at his pipe. 'I can't leave the paper.'
'Oh, men always say that! Haven't you let your pipe out? I don't see any smoke.'
He started and laughed. 'Yes, there's no more tobacco in it.' He laid it down.