of his lethargy. "What is she to me?" he thought. "Am I afraid of her?"
"Lazy?" she exclaimed with a scarcely perceptible touch of archness. "What? A man be lazy? That passes my comprehension."
"Why should it?" was his inward comment. "It is all simple enough. I have taken to sitting at home more and more, and therefore Schtoltz thinks that I——"
"But I expect you write a great deal?" she went on. "And have you read much?" Somehow her gaze seemed very intent.
"No, I cannot say that I have." The words burst from him in a sudden fear lest she should see fit to put him through a course of literary examination.
"What do you mean?" she inquired, laughing. Then he too laughed.
"I thought that you were going to cross-question me about some novel or another," he explained. "But, you see, I never read such things."
"Then you thought wrong. I was only going to ask you about a few books of travel."
He glanced at her quickly. Her lips were still compressed, but the rest of her face was smiling.
