By this time she had mastered her confusion and was able to examine his face. Under his eyes were circles of dull gray, defined by deep lines,
“Why, you’re worn out!” she cried pitifully. “Haven’t you been sleeping?”
“Not much.”
“You must take something for it.” The mothering instinct sprang to the rescue. “How much rest did you get last night?”
“Let me see. Last night I did very well. Fully four hours.”
“And that is more than you average?”
“Well, yes; lately. You see, I’ve been pretty busy.”
“Yet you’ve given up your time to my wretched, unimportant little stupid affairs! And what return have I made?”
“You’ve made the sun shine,” he said, “in a rather shaded existence.”
“Promise me that you’ll sleep to-night; that you won’t work a stroke.”