"
"I know. They're a frightful nuisance," said Cara, ringing the bell for
tea. "But lamp-light is the most becoming form of illumination, you
know--especially when you're getting on in years, like me!"
Robin helped her off with her coat, lingering a little over the process,
and gazed down at her with adoring eyes.
"Don't--talk--rubbish!" he said, softly and emphatically.
Perhaps he might have gone on to say something more, but at that moment
a trim parlourmaid came in and began to arrange the tea-table beside her
mistress's chair, and for some time afterwards Cara skilfully contrived to
keep the conversation on impersonal lines. It was not until tea was over
that Robin suddenly struck a more intimate note again. He had been watching
her face in silence for a little while, noticing that it looked very small
and pale to-day in its frame of night-dark hair, and that there were faint,
purplish shadows beneath her eyes.
"You look awfully tired!" he remarked with concern. "And sad," he added.
"Is anything bothering you?"
She was silent for a moment, staring into the heart of the fire where the
red and blue flames played flickeringly over the logs.
"I've been taking a look into the past," she said, at last, "It's--it's
rather a dreary occupation.
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