Thayor continued silent, gazing into the library fire, his hands
clenched deep in his trousers pockets, his shoulders squared.

"A beautiful dinner," she continued, her voice rising--"the best I
have had this season, and yet you sat there like a log."

The man turned sharply--so sharply that the woman at his side gave a
start.

"Sit down!" he commanded--"over there where I can see you. I have
something to say."

She looked at him in amazement. The determined ring in his voice made
her half afraid. What had he to say?

"What do you mean?" she retorted.

"Just what I said. Sit down!"

The fair shoulders shrugged. She was accustomed to these outbursts,
but not to this ring in his voice.

"Go on--what is it?"

Thayor crossed the room, shut the door and turned the key in the lock.
She watched him in silence as he switched off the electric lights
along the bookcases, until naught illumined the still library but the
soft glow of the lamp and the desultory flare from the hearth.