She did not raise her eyes nor start, being evidently intent upon finishing the sentence she had begun.
"I thought you were never coming," she said, absently.
He was more hurt than ever by her indifference, and sat down at a little distance, without moving the light chair he had chosen. Fanny reached the foot of the page, put a letter she held into the place, closed the book upon it, and then at last looked up.
"Do you like your tea strong or weak?" she enquired in a business-like tone.
"Just as it comes—I don't care," answered Lawrence, gloomily.
"Then I'll give it to you now. I like mine strong."
"It's bad for the nerves."
"I haven't any nerves," said Fanny Trehearne, with conviction.
"That's curious," observed Lawrence, with fine sarcasm.
Fanny looked at him without smiling, since there was nothing to smile at, and then poured
