She saw his hands clench the chair tightly—sure sign of a strong man's emotion.
Quietly she rose from her seat, took a footstool, placed it beside him, and sat at his feet. She laid her head on his knee; Bersak followed her and lay at her feet. They formed a pretty group in the firelight's glow. The room was warm and cosy, although large; outside, the snow was still falling, adding steadily to the frozen mass upon which it descended.
Redmond Maynard placed his hand on her head and gently stroked her hair. She remained silent and quite still.
"It is like old times to have you here again," he said at length.
"And I am very glad to be with you. Will you play chess, shall I read to you, or will you talk?" she said.
"Being a woman, Irene, I will talk to you."
"Am I such a chatterbox?" she answered, laughing.
"Not that, anything but that. You speak when you have something to say; you are not an aimless chatterer."
"Warren says my tongue is never still."
"Warren is an ass," he snapped.