VII
Mary watched him go; and thought exactly what he had guessed she would. She said it was time for the boys to go to bed. They all went downstairs. In her own room she lit her reading-lamp, but instead of undressing she stood for a time looking out the window on the lake. Then, when the house was quiet, she turned slowly, reluctantly, to her door, and stopping more than once she descended to the ground floor. The hall was dimly lit. The library door was shut; she heard the rustle of papers and the thud of a book falling. She opened the door noiselessly. There was Laurence, with a wet towel round his head, working at his desk.... And there was Lavery, in a deep chair beside him, looking over some papers. She retreated without a word, but the closing of the door betrayed her.
It was Lavery who came out and found her, wrapped in her long coat, undoing the chain of the front door. He picked up a coat and joined her, not doubting that she wished him to do so.
"Laurence oughtn't to work tonight," she said sharply. "He isn't fit to work."
"Well, I guess he has to—some papers he has to go over.... And he always says he works best at night," drawled Lavery. "Fact is, though, he's not looking well—complains of headache the last few days. Perhaps he ought to ease off a little—rest, if possible."
"Rest!" Mary said with a short laugh. "I never knew him to rest."
"No, that's so—he seems geared up to a certain speed.... But after all we have to relax a bit as we get older. The machine won't stand the speed. And Laurence burns the candle at both ends."