"I'm forgetting," he said in a few minutes, leaning forward to knock out his pipe, "that I've a job to do for you. I'll see to that bedstead now, shall I?"
"Why?" she said coldly. "It is all ready made up for you in the dressing-room. What do you want to do?"
He stared, bewildered.
"I'm not going to sleep there."
"Aren't you? Then I will."
He began to see dimly the meaning of her mood; but he was stumbling about in darkness to find her reasons for it. What reasons could she have for so extraordinary a reply?
"My dear good girl," he cried sharply, "explain yourself."
"I don't know how to, exactly. But I have liked having my room to myself. I wish to keep it."
"You've got some nonsense into your head—"
"It isn't nonsense. It's just fact. I've been without a husband for a year and I've found it wonderfully restful. I can be without him some more."