“Can’t I help?” he begged, as she began to make preparations for tea. It seemed a profanation that she should stoop to put the kettle on the fire. Yet how wonderfully it became her to bend her long, graceful body, and how she seemed to dignify and make mysterious the simplest actions! By the time he received a cup from her hands, Mr. Nevern was in a state bordering on spiritual exaltation. “I have had a holiday to-day,” she told him, leaning back in the one comfortable chair the room contained. “Mr. Kingslake is out of town on business till to-morrow.” Her companion’s face darkened with envy of the man with whom she spent half of every day. “How long have you--had this work?” he inquired, trying to speak naturally. “I’ve only just begun. It’s interesting, of course. But I can’t say I’m not glad of a long day to myself sometimes. It’s good in this hurried age to have time to possess one’s soul, isn’t it?” “It was very good of you to let me come this afternoon,--to let me disturb you,” murmured Nevern. “On the contrary, I wanted to make my holiday complete,” she returned, with a smile which set the young man’s heart beating. “How is the book going?” she pursued, placing her left hand tenderly on a slim volume of verse which lay on the table beside her. Nevern, following the motion of her hand, glowed with joy. “Not well,” was all he could find to say, however, and that gloomily. “Are you surprised?” asked Philippa, with tender raillery. “Does delicate, beautiful work like this appeal to the multitude?” Nevern smiled deprecatingly, but his heart bounded. “You mustn’t say such charming things,” he stammered. “You make me----” He checked himself and hurriedly drank his tea. “I don’t know which is my favorite,” she went on, thoughtfully, turning the leaves of the book. “This, perhaps, with its beautiful refrain.” She read the lines softly, while Nevern trembled with happiness. “Or this. But they are all exquisite.” She continued to turn the leaves with her long, delicate fingers, with a touch like a caress, while she talked. The sound of her voice was music in the young man’s ears, the flattery of her words an intoxication. He was sometimes conscious that he spoke at random, while his eyes were on her face, and then he flushed and pulled himself together, but she did not seem to notice his temporary lapses; her eyes met his, limpid, full of sympathy, deeper than the depths of waters stilled at even. He found himself repeating the lines to himself while she was giving him a second cup of tea. His hand touched hers as she passed it, and his own shook so that some of the tea was spilled. A drop or two splashed onto Philippa’s velveteen gown. With an exclamation of impatience for his clumsiness, Nevern fell on his knees and, snatching out his handkerchief, wiped away the stain.