He did not reply for a moment, then he turned his head aside sharply for him.
"No, my dear, thank you; I'm comfortable enough here," he returned huskily.
She stood over him, hesitating a second, then moved abruptly to the table, from which she took a book.
He had risen from his seat by the time she turned to go out, and he intercepted her timorously.
"Kathie, give me a kiss before you go," he whispered hoarsely. "I—I don't often bother you."
She drew her breath in deeply as he put his arms clumsily about her, but she stood still, and he kissed her on the forehead, and touched the little wavy curls that strayed across it gently with his big trembling fingers.
When he released her she moved at once impetuously to the open doorway. On the threshold she hesitated, paused a moment irresolutely, and then turned back.
"Shall IDoes your pipe want filling, John?" she asked softly.
"No, thank you, my dear."
"Would you like me to stay, read to you, or anything?"
He looked up at her wistfully. "N-no, thank you, I'm not much of a reader, you know, my dear—somehow."
She hated herself for knowing that there would be a "my dear," probably a "somehow" in his reply, and despised herself for the sense of irritated impatience she felt by anticipation, even before the words were uttered.
There was a moment's hesitating silence, broken by the sound of quick firm footsteps without. Broomhurst paused at the entrance, and looked into the tent.
"Aren't you coming, Drayton?" he asked, looking first at
