Stephen gave himself to the grateful sense of her proximity. He had
come to sun himself again in the warmth of her fellowship; he was
stirred by her emphasis of their separation and reunion. "And what,
please," he asked, "have you been doing? Account to me for the time?"
"While you have been praying and fasting? Wondering what you were at,
and waiting for you to finish. Waiting," she said, and clasped her knees
with her intent look again, swaying a little to and fro in her content,
as if that which she waited for had already come, full and very
desirable.
"Have you been reading----?"
"Oh, I have been reading nothing? You shall never go into retreat
again," she went on, with a sudden change of expression. "It is well
enough for you, but I am not good at fasting. And I have an indulgence,"
she added, unaware of her soft, bright audacity, "that will cover both
our cases."
His face uttered aloud his reflection that she was extravagant, that it
was a pity, but that what was not due to her profession might be
ascribed to the simple, clear impulse of her temperament--that
temperament which he had found to be a well of rare sincerity.
"I am not to go any more into retreat?" he said, in grave interrogation;
but the hint of rebuke in his voice was not in his heart, and she knew
it.
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