He had been writing tor an hour or more, when Dorothea tapped at the door and entered.
Endymion did not observe her pallor; indeed, he scarcely looked up.
"Ah! You have come for a book?
Make as little noise, then, as possible, that's a good soul.

You interrupted me in a column of figures." He began to add them up afresh, tapping the table with the fingers of his left hand, as his custom was when counting.

Dorothea waited.

The addition made, he entered it, resting three shapely finger-tips on the table's edge for the number to be carried over.
"I wish to speak with you particularly." He laid down his pen resignedly.

Her voice was urgent, and he knew well enough that the occasion must be urgent when Dorothea interrupted his work.
"Anything wrong ?" "It--it's about M.Raoul." His eyebrows went up, but only to contract again upon a magisterial frown.
"Really, after the request I was obliged to make to Narcissus last night--you were present, I believe?
Is it possible that I failed to make plain my distaste ?" "Ah, but listen! It is no question of distaste, but of a great wrong.
He was not trying to escape; he told you an untruth, to--to save--" Endymion had picked up a paper-knife, and leaned back, tapping his teeth with it.
"Do you know ?" he said, "I suspected something of this kind from the first, though I had no idea you shared the knowledge.