Cary looked down thoughtfully at Stewart's thin hand resting on the arm of the chair, and Stewart looked at her and the silence grew and grew. If only he knew whether——
She looked up quickly, as though divining his thoughts, and she flushed a little.
"We will keep the secret," she said, "you and I—won't we? And we will try and help him? Do you know, I believe he'll take his ambition and courage and—love," the flush mounted higher, "and remould his life?" She hesitated, "Even hopeless love—" and then she broke off, turning her face away. Stewart did not speak or move.
"Then it isn't Robert," he said to himself after she had gone, "Then—it—isn't—Robert!"
V.
Weeks later, when Stewart was able, he went around to see Cary.
"It's a dreadful pull—up those stairs," said Cary, rolling forward a chair and looking anxiously at Stewart as he stood wan and breathless, but smiling, in the doorway.
"It never used to be," he panted, sitting down.
His eyes wandered about the room.
"Jove, but it's good to get back here! And you haven't changed things a bit—even the Psyche in her old place! And the little tea kettle—Jove!"