hot and red at the thought of it. In all his life the only woman's lips that had ever touched his own were the lips of his mother. While he stood by the fire thinking in this unusual way, Elisabeth came in. Mally, she said, was tired out and had gone to bed, and she had come to ask if there was anything that he wanted.
"Nothing," he answered. "Nothing—thank you. But—stay a moment, Elisabeth; I want to speak to you."
She stood waiting, in evident expectation of some order or instruction. Hepworth felt nervously uncertain of himself; the intensity of his feeling seemed to destroy his hold over his own faculties.
"Shut the door, Elisabeth," he said, "and come in—there's something I wished to tell you to-night."
She obeyed his instructions and came a little nearer, leaning one hand on the table between them and looking at him for his orders. Hepworth made an effort to speak.
