Dinner over, they retired to their cozy library where the logs burned brightly and all looked cheerful comfort.
"Come, dear," said Alma, drawing his big chair nearer to the fire, and placing a cushion for his feet.
Will looked his surprise. Never before had she attempted to wait upon him. He had always been the willing slave.
"Thank you, dear," he said tenderly, and he dropped his stalwart form into the chair with relief.
Alma reached for his paper and then drew a cigar from the stand. Both she handed to him smiling.
He took them but laid them aside.
"No, no, Alma. I want only you to-night." And he drew her down lovingly into his lap.
Could it be possible that her slight effort had brought back the old perfect order of things again? Will was his old self, lovingly tender, to-night. Weary, yes, but not the slightest irritable. He looked at her long and fixedly for a few moments and she returned his gaze with a sweet questioning smile.
"Alma, I'm fearfully worried to-night over business."
"Forget it. Will," she said lightly, placing her cool hand on his hot forehead. "You say you only want me—then think only of me."