“Yes.”
“I’ll take the responsibility of that, if you let me have one pipe, Stargarde, only one.”
“One then let it be,” she replied.
With eyes fixed on her, he felt for his tobacco pouch and pipe, which he blindly filled, only looking at it when the time for lighting came. Then in a state of utter beatification he leaned back, smoking quietly and listening to her clear voice, as she swung slowly to and fro, talking to the child.
After a time Zeb fell asleep and Stargarde’s voice died away.
Camperdown rose slowly to his feet. He knew that it was time for him to be gone and that it was better for him to call attention to it himself than to wait for an ignominious dismissal as soon as Stargarde should come out of the reverie into which she had fallen.
“Good-bye,” he said in startling fashion. “Take notice that I’m going of my own accord for once, and don’t put me out any more. I’m trying to deserve my good fortune, you see.”
“Good-night, Brian,” she said gently.
He seized his cap and coat, flashed her a look of inexpressible affection from his deep-set eyes, and was gone.