"That's better," He said. "Now we can get a clear view of the fire. It isn't too much for you, Elise?" He had persuaded himself that he had really moved the tea-table because of the fire. As yet he had no purpose and no plan. He didn't know what on earth he was going to say to Elise. He sat down beside her and there was a sudden hushed pause. Elise had turned round in her seat and was looking at him; her eyes were steady behind the light tremor of their lashes, brilliant and profound. He reflected that her one weak point, the shortness of her legs, was not noticeable when she was sitting down. He also wondered how he could ever have thought her mouth hard. It moved with a little tender, sensitive twitch, like the flutter of her eyelids, and he conceived that she was drawn to him and held trembling by his fascination. She spoke first. "Mr. Waddington, I don't know how to thank you for your kindness about the rent. But you know it's safe, don't you?" "Of course I know it. Don't talk about rent. Don't think about it." "I can't help it. I can't think of anything else until it's paid." "I'd rather you never paid any rent at all than that you should worry about it like this. I didn't ask you to come here to talk business, Elise." "I'm afraid I must talk it. Just a little." "Not now," he said firmly. "I won't listen." It sounded exactly as if he said he wouldn't listen to any more talk about rent; but he thought: "I don't know what I shall do if she begins about that five hundred. But she hardly can, after that. Anyhow, I shall decline to discuss it." "Tell me what you've been doing with yourself?" "You can't _do_ much with yourself in Wyck. I trot about my house--my dear little house that you've made so nice for me. I do my marketing, and I go out to tea with the parson's wife, or the doctor's wife, or Mrs. Bostock, or Mrs. Grainger." "I didn't know you went to the Graingers." He thought that was not very loyal of Elise. "You must go somewhere." "Well?" "And in the evenings we play bridge." "Who plays bridge?" "Mr. Hawtrey, or Mr. Thurston, or young Hawtrey, and Toby, and Major Markham and me." "Always Major Markham?" "Well, he comes a good deal. He likes coming." "_Does_ he?" "Do you mind?" "I should mind very much if I thought it would make any difference." "Any difference?" She frowned and blinked, as though she were trying hard to see what he meant, what he possibly _could_ mean by that. "Difference?" she said. "To what?" "To you and me." "Of course it doesn't. Not a scrap. How could it?" "No. How could it? I don't really believe it could." "But why should it?" she persisted. "Why, indeed. Ours is a wonderful relation. A unique relation. And I think you want as much as I do to--to keep it intact."