"I really think," said the lady, "that you had better go."
"Just as you please; I shall only have to sit up two hours later to-morrow night."
He walked to his place with his head thrown farther back and his chin thrust farther forward than ever. He began to sort and arrange his papers preparatory to his departure. It took him five minutes. At the end of the five minutes he was aware that Lucia had risen and was bidding him Good-night.
"You were quite right," she was saying. "I am tired, and I had better leave off. If you had rather stay and finish, please stay."
At those words Mr. Rickman was filled with a monstrous and amazing courage. He made for the door, crossing without a tremor the whole length of the library. He reached the door before Miss Harden, and opened it. He returned her good-night with a hope that she would be rested in the morning. And as he went back to his solitary labour he smiled softly to himself, a smile of self-congratulation.
He had meant her to go—and she had gone.
Upstairs in her room overhead Lucia communed with her own face in the glass.
"My private secretary?"
The face in the glass looked dubious.
"Of course I would rather have a gentleman for my private secretary. Some people would say he isn't a gentleman." (She had said it herself the other day.)