In absolute dumbness Stanton and Cornelia sat listening until the horrid sound died away. Then, and then only, did Cornelia cross the room to Stanton's side and proffer him her hand. The hand was very cold, and the manner of offering it was very cold, but Stanton was quite man enough to realize that this special temperature was purely a matter of physical nervousness rather than of mental intention.
Slipping naturally into the most conventional groove either of word or deed, Cornelia eyed the suitcase inquisitively.
"What are you doing?" she asked thoughtlessly. "Returning my presents?"
"You never gave me any presents!" said Stanton cheerfully.
"Why, didn't I?" murmured Cornelia slowly. Around her strained mouth a smile began to flicker faintly. "Is that why you broke it off?" she asked flippantly.
"Yes, partly," laughed Stanton.
Then Cornelia laughed a little bit, too.
After this Stanton lost no possible time in getting down to facts.
Stooping over from his chair exactly after the manner of peddlers whom he had seen in other people's houses, he unbuckled the straps of his suitcase, and turned the cover backward on the floor.
Cornelia followed every movement of his hand with vaguely perplexed blue eyes.