“And am I to have no tea, Miss Leland?” asked a voice out of the darkness.
Allegra gave a little scream, and almost dropped her cup.
“Good gracious!” she exclaimed. “How can you startle any one like that? How do you know that I have not heart disease?”
“I would as soon suspect the goddess Hygeia of that, or any other ailment,” said Captain Hulbert, rising to his full six feet two, out of the low chair in the dark corner by the bookcase. “Forgive me for my bearishness in sitting here while you were in the room. I could not resist the temptation to sit and watch you for a minute or two while you were unconscious of my presence. It was like looking at a picture. While you are talking I am so intent upon what you say, and what you think, that I almost forget to consider what you are like. To-night I could gaze undistracted.”
“What absolute nonsense you talk,” said Allegra, with the sugar-tongs poised above the basin. “One lump—or two?”
“One, two, three—anything you like—up to a million.”
“Do you know that you nearly made me break a tea-cup—one of mother’s dear old Worcester tea-cups? I should never have forgiven you.”
“But as you didn’t drop the tea-cup, I hope you do forgive me for my stolen contemplation, for sitting in my corner there and admiring you in the firelight?”
“Firelight is very becoming. No doubt I looked better than in the daytime.”