was struck to the point of bewilderment by the change in her
husband's face. He had seated himself near the farther lamp, and
was absorbed in the perusal of his letters; but was it something
he had found in them, or merely the shifting of her own point of
view, that had restored his features to their normal aspect? The
longer she looked, the more definitely the change affirmed
itself. The lines of painful tension had vanished, and such
traces of fatigue as lingered were of the kind easily
attributable to steady mental effort. He glanced up, as if drawn
by her gaze, and met her eyes with a smile.

"I'm dying for my tea, you know; and here's a letter for you," he
said.

She took the letter he held out in exchange for the cup she
proffered him, and, returning to her seat, broke the seal with
the languid gesture of the reader whose interests are all
inclosed in the circle of one cherished presence.

Her next conscious motion was that of starting to her feet, the
letter falling to them as she rose, while she held out to her
husband a long newspaper clipping.

"Ned! What's this? What does it mean?"

He had risen at the same instant, almost as if hearing her cry
before she uttered it; and for a perceptible space of time he and
she studied each other, like adversaries watching for an
advantage, across the space between her chair and his desk.