A familiar voice struck on her ears,
like the memories, ringing out a dangerous response from her tired
soul.
"Forgive me, Mrs. Travers. I met your husband this afternoon, and he
told me to drop in unannounced, as he would be alone. It seems the
other way about. I am very sorry to seem so rude."
Lois rose quickly to her feet. She saw Nicholson standing in the
doorway, tall, upright, his face hidden by the shadow.
"I won't disturb you," he added, after a moment's hesitation.
The tone of formality hurt her. With a return of her old
impulsiveness, she began searching for the matches.
"You are not disturbing me," she said. "On the contrary, I--was
expecting you. Archibald told me you were coming, but I forgot to
light up. I was twilight-dreaming, if there is such a term."
She laughed with a forced cheerfulness, and he made no answer. The
little red-shaded lamp gave her some trouble, and when she looked up
she saw that he was standing opposite her, the light falling on a
broad scar across his forehead.
"How the burn shows to-night!" she exclaimed involuntarily. "Will you
never lose it?"
"Never," he answered. "I do not want to. When I am depressed, I look
at it, and remember that I have done one thing worth doing in my
life."
"I don't know," she returned. "You have done more useful things than
that."
"Not to my mind."
"Well, but to mine. There, when I have pulled the curtains and put the
lamp just at your elbow, you could almost imagine yourself back in
England, couldn't you? Imagine the street outside as a bit of London.
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