And her eyes followed his indecision with a smile that gradually became perplexed and then a little troubled.
For even in the uncertain firelight she was aware of the change in his face--of features once boyish and familiar that seemed now to have settled into a sterner, darker mould--a visage that was too lean for his age--a face already haunted of shadows; a mature face--the face of a man who had known unhappiness.
He had paused, now, head lifted, eyes fixed on vast canvas above.

And for a long while he stood there leaning sideways against a ladder, apparently oblivious of her.
Time lagged, halted--then sped forward, slyly robbing him of minutes of which his senses possessed no record.

But minutes had come and gone while he stood there thinking, unconscious of the trick time played him--for the fire was already burning low again and the tall clock in the shadows pointed with stiff and ancient hands to the death of another hour and the birth of yet another; and the old-time bell chimed impartially for both with a shift and slide of creaking weights and wheels.
He lifted his head abruptly and looked at Valerie, who lay curled up in her chair, eyes closed, dark lashes resting on her cheeks.
As he passed her chair and returned to place more logs on the fire she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

The curve of her mouth grew softly humorous.
"I'd much prefer my own bed," she said, "if this is all you have to say to me." "Had you anything to say to me ?" he asked, unsmiling.
"About what, Kelly, dear ?" "God knows; I don't." "Listen to this very cross and cranky young man!" she exclaimed, sitting up and winking her eyes in the rushing brilliancy of the blaze.

"He is neither a very gracious host, nor a very reasonable one; nor yet particularly nice to a girl who left a perfectly good party for an hour with him." She stole a glance at him, and her gaze softened: "Perhaps," she said aloud to herself, "he is not really very cross; perhaps he is only tired--or in trouble.