When Walter reached the head of the stairs and shook hands with her, she had changed from the dimmest of possibilities to a vivid desire.
"Did you have a good passage?"
"Fine. A gale all the way over."
There were a few more banalities.
"Good Lord, Yetta," he exploded. "How you've grown up and changed!"
Yetta had hoped for his approbation of her works. He was admiring her person. He was looking her over with frank pleasure. The blush hurt her cheek. She turned away to hide it.
"Here's a note Mabel gave me for you," she said.
Walter took it mechanically. He ought to have tossed it into the waste-paper basket. But the hope, the fool, the idiot hope grabbed him by the throat. Once more. He tore it open. This would be positively the last concession to the Dream.—Eleanor Mead was decorating a country house out near Stamford, Mabel had gone out to pass the week-end with her. She was glad to hear that Walter was back and looked forward to hearing about his adventures. She judged from the papers that he had had a lot—So! Spending a few days with Eleanor, whom she saw all the time, was more important than staying in town to greet him, whom she had not seen for years. He stuck the letter in his pocket and turned to Yetta, who was watching him closely.
"How's 'Saph' coming on?" he asked lightly.
"I don't see much of her."