" She looked up innocently. "Shall I show you?"
Chilcote moved a small table nearer to the couch and spread
his hands upon it, palms downward. "Like this, eh?" he said.
Then a ridiculous nervousness seized him and he moved away.
"Some other day," he said, quickly. "You can show me some
other day. I'm not very fit this afternoon."
If Lillian felt any disappointment, she showed none. "Poor
old thing!" she said, softly. "Try to sit here by me and we
won't bother about anything." She made a place for him beside
her, and as he dropped into it she took his hand and patted it
sympathetically.
The touch was soothing, and he bore it patiently enough.
After a moment she lifted the hand with a little exclamation
of reproof.
"You degenerate person! You have ceased to manicure. What
has become of my excellent training?"
Chilcote laughed. "Run to seed," he said, lightly. Then his
expression and tone changed. "When a man gets to my age," he
added, "little social luxuries don't seem worth while; the
social necessities are irksome enough.
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