“Nina.”
Then folding and addressing it, she uttered a profound and relieved sigh, and prepared to leave the room.
“You might as well deliver it,” said a quiet voice behind her.
With a faint shriek she wheeled around. There, extended full length on the lounge, was the very man to whom she had been writing. He had been lying there watching her. “I am tired,” he said, slowly. “I was trying to get forty winks by way of refreshment.”
“When I came and disturbed you. Please forgive me,” and, cautiously and penitently, she began to edge her way toward the door.
“Wait,” he said, calmly. “I wish you to hand me that bit of paper from the table.”
“I would rather have you read it after I have gone,” she said, her cheeks a furious red.
“And I would rather read it now,” he returned, gently. “Bring it here, Nina.”
Reluctantly, and dragging her feet after her as slowly as if there were balls and chains attached, she went back, seized the paper by a corner, and extended it to him as if it were a noxious reptile.
He took it and her hand at the same time, obliging her to stand by him while he read it. He pored over it for some minutes; then, raising his eyes to her face, he said, “So you imagine I am vexed with you?”