"Well, I can watch you."

"And you won't think it rude?"

He shook his head. There was a rare joy in sitting within reach of her
and honouring her with his restraint.

Her slim feet were crossed on the dog's back, and she hardly stirred
except to turn a page: the firelight threw colours on her dress, behind
her there was a dark dresser where china gleamed, and sitting there, she
made a little picture of home for a man who could remember none but
hired women in his house.

"I wish you'd talk to me," he said, and at once she shut her book with a
charming air of willingness.

"Do you know what you've been reading about?" he dared to ask her slyly,
for surely she had been conscious of his thoughts of her.

She would not be fluttered. "Yes. Shall I tell you?"

"No," he said.

Her voice was influenced by the quick beating of her heart.

"Do you never read anything?"

"I gave it up long ago."

"Why? What did you do at night before you--"

"Before I married you? I used to smoke and wish it was time to go to
bed, and look at the newspaper sometimes."

"That must have been very dull."

"I used to watch the clock," he said. He leaned towards her and spoke
quickly, softly. "And I watch it still! From waking till dusk I watch it
and think of you, sitting and waiting for me. Oh, what's the good of
talking to me of books? You're here--and you're my wife, and I'll talk
to you of nothing but yourself." He knelt, and his hands were on her
waist. "Yourself--my beauty--my little saint--your little hands and
feet--your cheeks I want to kiss--your hair--" He drew her to his breast
and whispered, "How long is it--your hair?"

There was no resistance in her, and her neck could not hold up the head
that drooped over his shoulder when he kissed her ear and spoke in it.

"Helen--Helen--I love you. Tell me you love me. You've got to kiss
me--Yes--"

She answered in a quiet voice, but she stopped for breath between the
words. "I think--there's some one--in the hall. It must be John."

Reluctantly he loosed her, and she left him quickly for the dark passage
which covered and yet cooled her as she called out, "John! Is that you?"

"Both of us," Rupert answered.

"But it's Friday."

"Yes. Won't you let me have a whole holiday tomorrow?"

She looked back into the kitchen and saw George prepared to meet her
brothers. Never before had she seen him with so fine a manner, and,
smiling at him, she felt like a conspirator, leagu