He had paused, now, head lifted, eyes fixed on vast canvas above.  And for a long while he stood there leaning sideways against a ladder, apparently oblivious of her.

Time lagged, halted—­then sped forward, slyly robbing him of minutes of which his senses possessed no record.  But minutes had come and gone while he stood there thinking, unconscious of the trick time played him—­for the fire was already burning low again and the tall clock in the shadows pointed with stiff and ancient hands to the death of another hour and the birth of yet another; and the old-time bell chimed impartially for both with a shift and slide of creaking weights and wheels.

He lifted his head abruptly and looked at Valerie, who lay curled up in her chair, eyes closed, dark lashes resting on her cheeks.

As he passed her chair and returned to place more logs on the fire she opened her eyes and looked up at him.  The curve of her mouth grew softly humorous.

“I’d much prefer my own bed,” she said, “if this is all you have to say to me.”

“Had you anything to say to me?” he asked, unsmiling.

“About what, Kelly, dear?”

“God knows; I don’t.”

“Listen to this very cross and cranky young man!” she exclaimed, sitting up and winking her eyes in the rushing brilliancy of the blaze.  “He is neither a very gracious host, nor a very reasonable one; nor yet particularly nice to a girl who left a perfectly good party for an hour with him.”

She stole a glance at him, and her gaze softened: 

“Perhaps,” she said aloud to herself, “he is not really very cross; perhaps he is only tired—­or in trouble.  Otherwise his voice and manners are scarcely pardonable—­even by me.”

He stood regarding the flames with narrowing gaze for a few moments, then, hands in his pockets, walked over to his chair once more and dropped into it.

A slight flush stole into her cheeks; but it went as it came.  She rose, crossed to where he sat and stood looking down at him.

“What is the matter?”

“With me?” in crude pretence of surprise.

“Of course.  I am happy enough.  What troubles you?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Then—­what troubles us?” she persisted.  “What has gone wrong between us, Kelly, dear?  Because we mustn’t let it, you know,” she added, slowly, shaking her head.

“Has anything gone wrong with us?” he asked, sullenly.

“Evidently.  I don’t know what it is.  I’m keeping my composure and controlling my temper until I find out.  You know what that dreadful temper of mine can be?” She added, smiling:  “Well, then, please beware of it unless you are ready to talk sensibly.  Are you?”

“What is it you wish me to say?”

“How perfectly horrid you can be!” she exclaimed, “I never knew you could be like this?  Do you want a girl to go on her knees to you?  I care enough for our friendship to do it—­but I won’t!”