Here it was he discovered mutual friends among the nobler Victorians — surprised to discover Sigurd there — and, carrying it to her bedside, looked leisurely through the half forgotten pages.
"Would you read a little?" she ventured.
He blushed but did his best. His was an agreeable, boyish voice, betraying taste and understanding. Time passed quickly — not so much in the reading but in the conversations intervening.
And now, made uneasy by chance consultation with his wrist-watch, and being rather a conscientious young man, he had risen and had informed Eve that she ought to go to sleep.
And she had denounced the idea, almost fretfully.
"Even if you go I shan't sleep till daddy comes," she said. "Of course," she added, smiling at him out of gentian-blue eyes, "if you are sleepy I shouldn't dream of asking you to stay."
"I'm not intending to sleep."
"What are you going to do?"
"Take a chair on the landing outside your door."
"What!"