Madeleine treated him exactly as she treated her host at a dinner.
She was as amiable as ever at the breakfast table, and when he
deserted his club of an evening, she sat at her embroidery frame and
told him the gossip of the day.
XXVI
One evening at the end of two long hours, when he had heroically
suppressed his longing for a game of poker, he said hesitatingly, "I
thought you were so fond of reading. I don't see any books about. All
the women are reading a novel called 'Quits.' I'll send it up to you
in the morning if you haven't read it."
For the first time since Masters' departure the blood rose in
Madeleine's face, but she answered calmly:
"Thanks. I have little time for reading, as I have developed quite a
passion for embroidery and I practice a good deal. This is a
handkerchief-case for Mrs. McLane. Of course I must read 'Quits,'
however, and also 'The Initials.' One mustn't be behind the times. If
you'll step into Beach's tomorrow and order them I'll be grateful."
"Of course I will. Should--should--you like me to read to you? I'm a
pretty bad reader, I guess, but I'll do my best."
"Oh--is there an earthquake?"
"No! But your nerves are in a bad state. I'll get you a glass of
port wine."
He went heavily over to the cupboard, but his hand was shaking as he
poured out the wine.
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