He perceived, too, that here was sign enough of change in him--that he who had, from his earliest days, held himself proudly, sternly aloof from all human companionship save that of his father, should now, so readily and eagerly, greet it.

Craven had been proud of him, eager to be with him, and had shown, in his artless opinions of men and things, the simplest, most innocent of characters.
"Time to light up," said Olva.

The room had grown very dark.
"I must be going." Olva noticed at once that there was a new note in Craven's voice.

The boy moved, restlessly, about the room.
"I say," he brought out at last, laughing nervously, "don't go asleep when I'm in the room again.

It gives one fits." Both men were conscious of some subtle, vague impression moving in the darkness between them.
Olva answered gravely, "I've been sticking in at an old paper I've been working on--no use to anybody, and I've been neglecting my proper work for it, but it's absorbed me.