He smiled.
"I am talking of what may be done, Miss Faith—not of what I do. But I wish you would let me try my powers for you to-night. How comes there to be a demand?—how comes there not to be a supply?"
"Of rest?" said Faith. "Oh there is! At least," she added reluctantly,—"there will be. There is now, Mr. Linden."
"Equal to the demand?"
"Why do you ask me?" she said, a little troubled.
"I believe I have a bad habit of asking questions," said Mr. Linden—and his tone was apologetic in its very gentleness, "It is partly my fault and partly Pet's."
"Partly whose? Mr. Linden," said Faith. "I don't think it's a bad habit. Whose fault, did you say?"
"Pet's—my sister's—into whose company I hope to send you soon again."
"Oh—I mustn't thank you!"—Faith said, beginning and stopping herself somewhat comically.
"I don't know whether you will thank me for taking you past your own gate, which I was about to do," said Mr. Linden. "And I don't know whether the social and astronomical days ought to agree—but Hesperus set some time ago."