le Docteur.
Monsieur le Docteur was not looking at her, nor thinking of
her apparently, for he never raised his eyes from his writing;
the candle light shone on his rough brown hair, on his
pleasant, clever face, with keen profile, well defined against
a shadowy background. Madelon sat watching him as though
fascinated; there was something in the absorbed attention he
was giving to his writing, which subdued and attracted her far
more than any words he could have spoken to her, or notice he
could have taken of her just then. He had apparently forgotten
her, this kind Monsieur le Docteur, who had evidently more
important things to think about than her and her pettish
little speeches; or she had perhaps made him angry, and he
would not take any more notice of her at all? There was a
certain amount of probability in this last idea to the self-
convicted little Madelon, that urged her to some sort of
action; she sat still for a few moments longer, then got up
and stole softly across the room to where Graham was sitting.
"I did not mean to be cross, Monsieur," she said, in her
little trembling voice, standing with her hands clasped behind
her back, and tears in her eyes.
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