'Why, I haven't _looked_ at your manuscript yet,' he retorted gaily, but as he spoke there flashed upon him a delectable vision of blue sea and waving pines with one fair wood-nymph flitting through the trees, luring him on from this musty cell of never-ending work to unknown ecstasies of youth and joyousness. The leafy avenues were bathed in sacred sunlight, and a low magic music thrilled through the quiet air. It was but the dream of a second--the dingy walls closed round him again; the great ugly steamer, that never went anywhere, sailed on. But the wood-nymph did not vanish; the sunbeam was still on the editorial chair, lighting up the little face with a celestial halo. And when she spoke again it was as if the music that thrilled the visionary glades was a reality, too. 'It's all very well, your treating reproof as a jest,' she said more gravely. 'Can't you see that it's false economy to risk a breakdown, even if you use yourself purely for others? You're looking far from well. You are over-taxing human strength. Come now, admit my sermon is just. Remember, I speak not as a Pharisee, but as one who made the mistake herself--a fellow-sinner.' She turned her dark eyes reproachfully upon him. 'I--I--don't sleep very well,' he admitted, 'but otherwise I assure you I feel all right.' It was the second time she had manifested concern for his health. The blood coursed deliciously in his veins; a thrill ran through his whole form. The gentle, anxious face seemed to grow angelic. Could she really care if his health gave way? Again he felt a rush of self-pity that filled his eyes with tears. He was grateful to her for sharing his sense of the empty cheerlessness of his existence. He wondered why it had seemed so full and cheery just before. 'And you used to sleep so well,' said Esther slyly, remembering Addie's domestic revelations. 'My stupid manuscript should come in useful.' 'Oh, forgive my stupid joke!' he said remorsefully. 'Forgive mine!' she answered. 'Sleeplessness is too terrible to joke about. Again I speak as one who knows.' 'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that!' he said, his egoistic tenderness instantly transformed to compassionate solicitude. 'Never mind me--I am a woman and can take care of myself. Why don't you go over to Norway and join Mr. Graham?' 'That's quite out of the question,' he said, puffing furiously at his pipe. 'I can't leave the paper.' 'Oh, men always say that! Haven't you let your pipe out? I don't see any smoke.' He started and laughed. 'Yes, there's no more tobacco in it.' He laid it down. 'No, I insist on your going on, or else I shall feel uncomfortable. Where's your pouch?' He felt all over his pockets. 'It must be on the table.' She rummaged among the mass of papers. 'Ha! there are your scissors!' she said scornfully, turning them up. She found the pouch in time and handed it to him. 'I ought to have the management of this office for a day,' she remarked again.