"
He peered up at her from his low chair,
balancing the tips of his long fingers together
in a judicial manner which had grown on him
with years.
Hilda laughed as she carefully poured his
cream. "That means that I was looking very
seedy at the end of the season, doesn't it?
Well, we must show wear at last, you know."
Wilson took the cup gratefully. "Ah, no
need to remind a man of seventy, who has
just been home to find that he has survived
all his contemporaries. I was most gently
treated--as a sort of precious relic. But, do
you know, it made me feel awkward to be
hanging about still."
"Seventy? Never mention it to me." Hilda looked
appreciatively at the Professor's alert face,
with so many kindly lines about the mouth
and so many quizzical ones about the eyes.
"You've got to hang about for me, you know.
I can't even let you go home again.
You must stay put, now that I have you back.
You're the realest thing I have."
Wilson chuckled. "Dear me, am I? Out of
so many conquests and the spoils of
conquered cities! You've really missed me?
Well, then, I shall hang. Even if you have
at last to put ME in the mummy-room with the others.
You'll visit me often, won't you?"
"Every day in the calendar. Here, your cigarettes
are in this drawer, where you left them."
She struck a match and lit one for him.
"But you did, after all, enjoy being at home again?"
"Oh, yes. I found the long railway journeys
trying.
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