Dagworthy raised his eyes slowly from her feet to her face.
'But you wouldn't care to go on with it always ?' 'I--I don't think about it,' she replied, nervousness again seizing her.
There was a new look in his eyes, a vehemence, a fervour, which she dared not meet after the first glance.

He would not finish the strapping of the books, and she could not bid him do so.

Had she obeyed her instinct, she would have hastened away, heedless of anything but the desire to quit his presence.
'How long will your holidays be ?' he asked, letting the books fall to the chair, as if by accident.
'Till the end of September, I think.' 'So long?
I'm glad to hear that.

You will come again some day to my house with your father, won't you ?' The words trembled upon his lips; it was not like his own voice, he could not control it.
'Thank you, Mr.Dagworthy,' she replied.
He bent to the books again, and this time succeeded in binding them together.

As he fastened the buckle, drops of perspiration fell from his forehead.
Emily thanked him, and held forth her hand for the books.