"The old fireplace took up too much room.
Sometimes, in very sharp weather, I have an oil-stove in.
Usually the gas warms it enough. You don't find it too
cold--do you?--with your coat on? Or would you rather
come upstairs?"
"Never mind the cold," he replied, throwing a leg
over the stool before the desk. "I can't stay more
'n a minute or two. What do you think we've done today?"
Louisa had never in her life seen her brother look
so well as he did now, sprawling triumphantly upon
the stool under the yellow gas-light. His strong,
heavily-featured face had somehow ceased to be commonplace.
It had acquired an individual distinction of its own.
He looked up at her with a clear, bold eye, in which,
despite its gloss of good-humour, she discerned a new authority.
The nervous and apprehensive lines had somehow vanished from
the countenance, and with them, oddly enough, that lethargic,
heavy expression which had been their complement.
He was all vigour, readiness, confidence, now. She deemed
him almost handsome, this curious, changeable brother
of hers, as he beat with his fist in a measured way
upon the desk-top to emphasize his words, and fastened
his commanding gaze upon her.
"We took very nearly twenty thousand pounds to-day,"
he went on. "This is the twenty-eighth of February.
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