Her face was a little pale; but she now arose with a laugh and began rubbing her finger-tips with a handkerchief.
"I think we'd better remove the dust of the Norwegian," she said; "and I make a vow never to read him again—in the morning." She stood looking down at her caller, good-humoredly and continued: "I suppose it is my fault, but you have a dreadfully gloomy expression. Or maybe," as an afterthought, "you ate an unwholesome dinner last night. Were you at the Perrings, by any chance?"
He shook his head, his keen eyes searching her face.
"No," said he, "I had much more important matters on hand."
She held up her hand.
"It was something about this Hume affair," she said.
"Yes," he replied.
The smile was now gone; she leaned back against a heavy table, her fingers tightly clasping its edge.
"I have been trying to forget that dreadful thing," she said. "I've stopped looking at the papers, because I would be sure to see it mentioned. And," with never a faltering in her eyes, "because I might be reminded of it in some other way, I now remain indoors."
"Last night was an exception, perhaps," suggested he, smoothly.