"I dare not indulge myself, dear; I have my letters to open before I go to bed. I was just going to order a fire in the library."
"A fire, on such a night as this! I'm afraid you have caught cold."
"I think it not unlikely," answered her husband, as he rang the bell.
"Don't you think your letters might keep till to-morrow morning, Julian?" pleaded Dora. "We could have a fire in the morning-room, and sit and talk."
"That would be delightful, but I must not allow myself to be tempted. I should not rest to-night with the idea of a pile of unopened letters."
He gave his orders to the servant. His letters and papers were all on the library table. A fire was to be lighted there immediately.
"You will be late, I am afraid," said Dora.
"I may be a little late. Don't wait up for me on any account, dearest. Goodnight!"
He kissed her; and she said good-night, but reserved her liberty to sit up for him all the same. There is no use in a husband saying to a wife of Mrs. Wyllard's temperament, "Don't sit up for me, and don't worry yourself!" Sleep was impossible to Dora until she knew that her husband was at rest; just as happiness was impossible to her when parted from him. She had made herself a part of his being, had merged her very existence in his; she had no value, hardly any individuality, apart from him.
"Julian looks tired and anxious," she said to her cousin, who stood smoking a cigarette just outside the window.