"I'll help you."
"No, you mustn't. I want you to sit down in that cosy chair there, and light your cigar—oh, or your pipe! Yes, to-night you must smoke a pipe."
"I haven't brought it."
"Well, then, a cigar. I won't be long."
She began clearing the table. Claude obediently drew out his cigar-case. He still felt uneasy. What was coming? He could not tell. But he felt almost sure that something was coming which would distress his secret sensitiveness, his strong reserve.
He lit a cigar, and sat down in the armchair Charmian had indicated. She flitted in and out, removing things from the table, shook out and folded the rough white cloth, laid it away somewhere behind the screen, and at last came to sit down.
The studio was lit up with electric light.
"There's too much light," she said. "Don't move. I'll do it."
She went over to the door, and turned out two burners, leaving only one alight.
"Isn't that ever so much better?" she said, coming to sit down near Claude.