“Yes.”
“All right, then. But don’t stay too long; the night air is not good for you.” It certainly was not good for him, so he remained in the library nodding over his newspaper.
She went to the piazza. Sitting on the veranda-rail, the young man was smoking. At the sound of her steps he started up eagerly; but when she was near him, his eyes showed nothing, his face was calm.
“A beautiful night, is n’t it?” said she.
“Yes,” he acquiesced. He stifled a yawn ostentatiously. Then, as though the thought had just struck him, “Shall I fetch you a chair?”
“Oh, no, thanks; I am going upstairs shortly,” she said, with indifference.
“Shall I fetch you a chair?” This in another tone.
“Yes,” she answered.
He did so, and then resumed his seat on the veranda and smoked in silence.
Overhead, the sky was as molten sapphire and the stars seemed more numerous than ever before, and brighter and nearer to the earth.