About midnight she rose from the sofa. They had been discussing plans for the future, repairs, alterations, improvements for Silverwood House—and how to do many, many wonderful things at vast expense; and how to practice rigid economy and do nothing at all.
"And, as she rose, he was still figuring"
It had been agreed that he was to give up his rooms in town and use hers whenever they remained in New York over night. And, as she rose, he was still figuring out, with pencil and pad, how much they would save by this arrangement. Now he looked up, saw her standing, and rose too.
She looked at him with sweet, sleepy, humourous eyes.
"Isn't it disgraceful and absurd?" she said. "But if I don't have my sleep I simply become stupid and dreary and useless beyond words."
"Why did you let me keep you up?" he said gently.
"Because I wanted to stay up with you," she said. She had moved to the centre table where the white carnations, as usual, filled the bowl. Her slender hand touched them caressingly, lingered, and presently detached a blossom.
She lifted it dreamily, inhaling the fragrance and looking over its scented chalice at him.