From the little sitting-room John could see into the bedroom. The light shone on the face of Phyllis asleep.
He sat watching the dying fire for a long while. Finally he rose, slowly wound up his watch, turned out the gas, and lay down on the sofa. He soon slumbered peacefully.
In the gray dawn Phyllis awakened. Recollections slowly crowded upon her consciousness. She rose and stood by the window, looking out on the quiet square, and at the houses, opposite, emerging from obscurity with the growing light. She stepped to the door and peeped into the other room. John lay on the sofa, sleeping soundly, one arm flung boyishly over his head.
The rooms were very cold. She took the coverlet from her bed and spread it over him.
He stirred a little. "Thanks, old chap," he murmured sleepily.
Phyllis tiptoed back to bed.
VII
Within a fortnight their rooms were transformed. Mrs. Farquharson declared she would not have known them herself.
John's old room, dismantled, yielded his bookshelves and his books; his father's old desk, a Sheraton, and therefore a beauty and joy forever; and his armchair, which took its place in a corner of the cheery sitting-room and seemed to say—"Come, sit here, and be comfortable," as naturally as though it had been established there for years. Certainly it had this advantage over the other chairs; it was so roomy John and Phyllis could sit in it together; and often did.