As they talked, the light had faded in the western sky to a cold radiance. The room was illuminated only by the dancing flames of the blazing hickory logs upon the hearth. The three men had gradually drawn nearer the fire as the shadows deepened about them. Now Benson rose from his chair.
“We'd better get together at my office in the course of a week or so, and we'll fix up these matters.”
“Won't you stay and take supper with us?” said Stephen.
“No, thank you.”
There was a gentle tap at the door, and Virginia entered the room, carrying a lamp. She bowed slightly to Benson, whom she had not seen before, and who, to her, seemed to be taking much too active a part in her husband's concerns. Her dislike, for it already amounted to that, was scarcely reasonable, but then she was not always reasonable.
“I thought you would need a light,” she explained, addressing her husband, “and Martha is busy with the men's supper.”
“Thank you for remembering us,” said Stephen.
He had risen and now took the lamp from her hand; in doing so his fingers closed about her's with a gentle pressure, while his eyes looked smilingly into her's; but there was no answering smile. She turned abruptly and quitted the room.
There was an awkward pause, then Bushrod rose quickly from his chair, with something like a look of dismay on his dark face.
“I declare, Stephen, you shouldn't go! What's the use of every one being made miserable?”