Was he in? Would she risk a meeting? Did she have nerve enough to go inside and say: “Miss Sturgis would like to see Mr. Devlin!” ... It was extraordinary, amazing! ... How utterly overcome he would be! ... To have his wife, whom he hadn’t seen for fourteen years, walk in upon him that way! ... It wasn’t fair to him, after all. She had better go back to the hotel and write him,—or perhaps it would be better to telephone.
Emotions, impulses, strange and contradictory, pulled her one way and another. The apprehension, the misgivings of yesterday were absent now. There was no longer any question in her mind as to whether or not she wanted to see Martin; she knew she wanted to see him very much; in fact, her mind was made up, she must see him. It would be a thrilling experience, after so many years.... When they parted, it had not been because they had ceased to be fond of one another. They had liked,—yes, even loved each other, at the very moment of separation.... How was it to be managed? How could she arrange to meet him with propriety? Her appearance, she was aware, would make an impression upon him; that effect would be lost in writing or telephoning.... Perhaps she had better go back to the hotel and think it over, but then she might never again find the courage which was hers at that moment.... She must do something; she could not stand there indefinitely gazing through the window at the motor cars inside! The young men within, she observed, had noticed her.
With heart that hammered at her throat, she stepped to the heavy door; it swung back at her touch. There was a pleasant warmth within. One of the young men came hurrying forward, rubbing his hands, one over the other, bowing politely, a beaming smile upon his face.
“Good morning, Madam. Interested in the Parrott?”
Jeannette swept the show-room with a quick look before answering. There was no one there remotely like Martin.
“I was thinking about one,” she admitted.
“Most happy to arrange a demonstration at any time.... What model did you fancy?”
Jeannette moved about the cars, peering into the interiors of their tonneaus, commenting upon the upholstery and finish, pretending an attention to the young salesman’s glib explanations.
“Shift here is automatic ... cylinders ... compression ... hundred-and-eighteen-inch wheel-base, ... equipment just as you see it, ... rear tire extra, of course, ... lovely car for a lady to drive ... rides like a gazelle ... just like a gazelle ... you wouldn’t know you were moving.... Lovely engine, isn’t it, Madam? ... A child could easily take it apart.”
Jeannette nodded and appeared interested. All the time she was thinking: “I wonder if he’s up there—I wonder if he’s up there.”