Then, when he had followed her out, and they were seated, "Isn't this better?" she asked. "Don't you feel more like yourself out here?"
He began a murmur: "Not at———"
But she cut him off sharply: "Please don't say 'Not at all' again!"
"I'm sorry."
"You do seem sorry about something," she said. "What is it? Isn't it time you were telling me what's the matter?"
"Nothing. Indeed nothing's the matter. Of course one is rather affected by such weather as this. It may make one a little quieter than usual, of course."
She sighed, and let the tired muscles of her face rest. Under the hard lights, indoors, they had served her until they ached, and it was a luxury to feel that in the darkness no grimacings need call upon them.
"Of course, if you won't tell me———" she said.
"I can only assure you there's nothing to tell."
"I know what an ugly little house it is," she said. "Maybe it was the furniture—or mama's vases that upset you. Or was it mama herself—or papa?"
"Nothing 'upset' me."
