The gas was unlit, the usual large fire blazed in the grate; an arm-chair was drawn up to the side, and within it sat Dan, head leaning on hand, in an attitude which spoke of weariness and dejection.
He raised his eyes and looked at her, and Darsie shut the door and came forward eagerly.
“Dan! Back again so soon? Is anything wrong?”
“No!”
“But you look strange. You—you didn’t hurt yourself at the rink?”
“No.”
“Quite, quite sure?”
“Quite.”
Darsie subsided on to her favourite seat—the hearthrug—with a little sigh of relief.
“That’s all right. You’re very monosyllabic, Dan. Shall I disturb you if I sit here for a time?”