The blue eyes were clear and beautiful, and a little grave; only the upcurled corners of her mouth promised anything.
The car drew up at the house; she sprang out and ran upstairs to her room. He heard her in animated confab with Mrs. Quant for a few minutes, then she came down in her black business gown, with narrow edges of lawn at collar and cuffs, and the bright lock already astray on her cheek. A white carnation was tucked into her waist; the severe black of her dress, as always, made her cheeks and lips and golden hair more brilliant by contrast.
"Now," she said, "for my notes. And what are you going to do while I'm busy?"
"Watch you, if I may. You've heard about the proverbial cat?"
"Care killed it, didn't it?"
"Yes; but it had a good look at the Queen first."
A smile touched her eyes and lips—a little wistfully.
"You know, Mr. Desboro, that I like to waste time with you. Flatter your vanity with that confession. And even if things were—different—but they couldn't ever be—and I must work very hard if I'm ever going to have any leisure in my old age. But come to the library for this last day, and smoke as usual. And you may talk to amuse me, if you wish. Don't mind if I'm too busy to answer your folly in kind."
They went together to the library; she placed the mass of notes in front of her and began to sort them—turned for a second and looked around at him with adorable malice, then bent again to the task before her.
"Miss Nevers!"