It was not until the following Saturday morning, however, that she appeared at the Farringtons' with a bulky parcel of papers in her hands.
"I knew your mother was going to be out, this morning," she said, as she slid out of her dripping mackintosh; "so I thought I'd get it over with."
"That's good. Take the big chair. Wait a minute, though."
He whistled for Patrick to put more wood on the fire, and to place a glass of water within Theodora's reach.
"There!" he said approvingly. "Now we're comfortable. Hold on a minute, Patrick; just boost me over to the sofa, while you're about it. I may as well take life easily."
Theodora stuffed the cushions about him with the swift, sure touch he knew so well, and he nodded blithely up at her, in thanks.
"Oh, but it's good you're back, Ted!" he said gratefully. "I've missed you like thunder. Now fire ahead. What are you going to call it?"
Theodora blushed, and the name stuck in her throat.
"I thought I should call it In the Furnace of Affliction," she said hesitatingly.
"Wow! How doleful!"