Did she see, ere he hastily averted them, all the hunger and all the longing that filled them as he watched her? He, in his turn, stooped and replenished the fire.
"John sent me to talk to you, Maurice," began Vera, hurriedly, like one repeating a lesson; "he tells me you will not be with us on the 27th; is that so?"
"I am sorry, but I am obliged to go away," he answered.
"John is dreadfully hurt, Maurice. I hope you will alter your mind."
"Is it John for whom you are speaking, or for yourself?" he asked, looking at her.
"For both of us. Of course it will be a great disappointment if you are not there. You are his only brother, and he will feel it deeply."
"And you; will you feel it?" he persisted. She coloured a little.
"Yes, I shall be very sorry," she answered, nervously. "I should not like John to be vexed on his wedding-day; he has been a kind brother to you, Maurice, and it seems hard that you cannot do this little thing to show your sense of it."
"Believe me, I show my gratitude to my brother just as well in staying away as in remaining," he answered, earnestly. "Do not urge me any further, Vera; I would do anything in the world to please John, but I cannot be present at your wedding."
There was a moment's silence; the fire flickered up merrily between them; a red-hot cinder fell out noisily from the grate; the clock ticked steadily on the chimney-piece; the little terrier sniffed at the edge of Vera's dress.