Janet looked with respectful wonder at Anne's dressing-gown, and a momentary doubt as to whether her presence was urgently needed vanished. Anne must have been expecting her. She would not have put on that exquisite garment to sit by herself in.
Janet's eyes travelled to Anne's face.
Even the faint, reassuring smile, which did not come the first moment it was summoned, could not disguise the fatigue of that pale face, though it effaced a momentary impatience.
"You are very tired," said Janet. "I wish you were as strong as me."
Janet's beautiful eyes had an admiring devotion in them, and also a certain wistfulness, which appealed to Anne.
"Sit down," she said cordially. "That is a comfortable chair."
"You were reading. Shan't I interrupt you?" said Janet, sitting down nevertheless, and feeling that tact could no further go.
"It does not matter," said Anne, closing the book, but keeping one slender finger in the place.
"What is your book called?"
"'Inasmuch.'"