"I've been knocking for five minutes," he announced. "I heard you or I'd have gone away."
Rachel nodded. Of course, it would be Hazlitt. He was always appearing when least expected. But it would be nice to talk to someone. She smiled. This was surprising and she shook her head as if she were carrying on a conversation with herself. George Hazlitt was always unbearable. But that was a memory. It no longer applied.
"I'm glad you came," she greeted him. "I was lonely."
Hazlitt looked at her in surprise. Visiting Rachel was a matter that required an extreme of determination. He had come prepared as usual for the sullen, uncomfortable hour she offered.
"I was going out," she continued, "but I won't now. If you'll sit down I'll do some work. You won't mind."
She looked at him eagerly as if to tell him he must forget she had always hated him and that she was different now. At least for the moment. He understood nothing and remained staring at her. His manner proclaimed frankly that he was bewildered.
"Yes, certainly," he answered at length, and sat down. She hurried about, securing her paints and setting up one of the unfinished posters. Drawing a deep breath Hazlitt lighted a pipe and watched her. She was beautiful. He admitted it with less belligerency than usual. He sat thinking, "what the deuce has happened to her. She said she was glad to see me." He was afraid to start an inquiry. She had never before smiled at him, let alone voiced pleasure over his presence. It was a mistake of some sort but he would enjoy it for awhile. But perhaps it was the beginning of something.
Hazlitt sighed. He smoked, waited, and struggled to avoid the thoughts that crowded upon him.
"That's rather nice," he said. He would follow her mood, whatever it was. Rachel's eyes laughed toward him.
"I hope it doesn't bore you. If you hadn't come I would never have thought of working."