He took his pipe from his pocket, filled it and lit it.
“Now then, Vere!” he said.
She came to sit down on the sofa.
He sat down beside her.
CHAPTER XII
More than an hour had passed. To Vere it had seemed like five minutes. Her cheeks were hotly flushed. Her eyes shone. With hands that were slightly trembling she gathered together her manuscripts, and carefully arranged them in a neat packet and put a piece of ribbon round them, tying it in a little bow. Meanwhile Artois, standing up, was knocking the shreds of tobacco out of his pipe against the chimney-piece into his hand. He carried them over to the window, dropped them out, then stood for a minute looking at the sea.
“The evening calm is coming, Vere,” he said, “bringing with it the wonder of this world.”
“Yes.”
He heard a soft sigh behind him, and turned round.