But when she heard a step in the hall, she opened the door herself. She
had determined to meet Palmer with a smile. Tears brought nothing; she had
learned that already. Men liked smiling women and good cheer. "Daughters
of joy," they called girls like the one on the Avenue. So she opened the
door smiling.
But it was K. in the hall. She waited while, with his back to her, he
shook himself like a great dog. When he turned, she was watching him.
"You!" said Le Moyne. "Why, welcome home."
He smiled down at her, his kindly eyes lighting.
"It's good to be home and to see you again. Won't you come in to my fire?"
"I'm wet."
"All the more reason why you should come," she cried gayly, and held the
door wide.
The little parlor was cheerful with fire and soft lamps, bright with silver
vases full of flowers. K. stepped inside and took a critical survey of the
room.
"Well!" he said. "Between us we have made a pretty good job of this, I
with the paper and the wiring, and you with your pretty furnishings and
your pretty self."
He glanced at her appreciatively. Christine saw his approval, and was
happier than she had been for weeks. She put on the thousand little airs
and graces that were a part of her--held her chin high, looked up at him
with the little appealing glances that she had found were wasted on Palmer.
She lighted the spirit-lamp to make tea, drew out the best chair for him,
and patted a cushion with her well-cared-for hands.
"A big chair for a big man!" she said. "And see, here's a footstool."
"I am ridiculously fond of being babied," said K., and quite basked in his
new atmosphere of well-being. This was better than his empty room
upstairs, than tramping along country roads, than his own thoughts.
"And now, how is everything?" asked Christine from across the fire. "Do
tell me all the scandal of the Street."
"There has been no scandal since you went away," said K. And, because each
was glad not to be left to his own thoughts, they laughed at this bit of
unconscious humor.
"Seriously," said Le Moyne, "we have been very quiet. I have had my salary
raised and am now rejoicing in twenty-two dollars a week. I am still not
accustomed to it. Just when I had all my ideas fixed for fifteen, I get
twenty-two and have to reassemble them. I am disgustingly rich."