"Has that damfool boy come in?" demanded his brother-in-law, anxiety
making his voice tremulous under its tone of contempt.
"Yes. Leave him to me, please. Good-night"--submitting to a tender
embrace from his sister--"I suppose Eileen has retired, hasn't she? It's
an ungodly hour--almost sunrise."
"I don't know whether Eileen is asleep," said Nina; "she expected a word
with you, I understand. But don't sit up--don't let her sit up late.
We'll be a company of dreadful wrecks at breakfast, anyway."
And his sister gently closed the door while he continued on to the end
of the corridor and halted before Eileen's room. A light came through
the transom; he waited a moment, then knocked very softly.
"Is it you?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yes. I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No. Is Gerald here?"
"Yes, in his own room. . . . Did you wish to speak to me about
anything?"
"Yes."
He heard her coming to the door; it opened a very little. "Good-night,"
she whispered, stretching toward him her hand--"that was all I
wanted--to--to touch you before I closed my eyes to-night.
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