L often enjoyed his wife's presence, and it was true that she was accustomed to his late nights. Still, when they were apart and he was at home, he had the luxury of staying in the library or his study as late as he wished, without reproach, and without even the concern that she might be put out. The difference was that there was no one to notice or remark on where he'd passed the night or to advance the idea that he might, possibly, be working too much.

The morning found him curled up asleep in an armchair near the dregs of the fire in the library. He wore a belted dressing gown over the shirt and trousers from the lounge suit he'd worn the previous day, but had undone his collar when he'd changed into the dressing gown--after dinner, before settling into the chair. He had called for a pot of tea at some point. The tray, with its silver service, a china cup and saucer, and a plate with some remaining crumbs of pastry, rested on a table just at hand to the chair.

His position, tucked in on himself, limbs folded into his outer garment and head leaning against the wing of the chair, indicated that he had been chilled, but not chilled enough to wake up and find his way upstairs to bed.

It was impossible for him to know it, but if anything, he looked even younger than he did during the day.