"About me?" William's eyes met the upward glance of his wife, and both looked at the old man inquiringly.
"Yes. You always seem nervous, overworked, and worried. I've tried to make it out. Are you sure you are entirely well? You are getting gray, my boy, and your signature often has a shaky look. You don't smoke too much, do you?"
"I think not," said William, and his eyes fell under the calm, penetrating stare of his wife. "But I am nervous, and seem to be getting more so. I am thinking of a vacation."
"That is right, take it," his uncle said. "I can run the old boat awhile by myself."
Celeste remained at the table after they had left the room. She listened attentively and heard them closing the door as they went out into the street. No sooner were they away than she rang for the maid.
"Please tell Michael that I want to see him," she said to the girl. "He is still there, is he not?"
"Yes, madam."
In a moment Michael appeared, his hat in hand.
"When did you get back?" Celeste asked, after she had greeted him and he stood at the end of the table, the dust of travel on his gray suit and in the hollows of his earnest blue eyes.
"At four o'clock this morning, madam; I'm pretty well done up."