"Anthony is a chauffeur," she answered, compassion for the change in him making her voice very gentle. "But I am afraid we have no automobile tools to lend. All such things are kept at the factory or in the machine he drives."
He swept aside the subject of automobiles with an impatient movement of his hand, and slowly turned to look over the room.
It had gathered much of comfort during those last months, that room; and something more. Scarlet-flowered curtains hung at the windows, echoing the vivid note of scarlet salvia in bloom on the sills. A shelf of books had been put up; beneath, a small table held the jade-and-ivory chessmen drawn up in battle array on their field. As always, the fire glowed, and on the hearth the cat stretched drowsily. Cheer dwelt in the place, the atmosphere of comradeship and assured love; and the pulse of it all was the girl who stood, tranquil of regard, rich in life and beautiful with health, princess in her own domain.
At her Masterson looked longest, his handsome, bitter mouth oddly twisted out of shape.
"You're different," he pronounced, finally.
"I am very happy."
"Happy? Here? You married a millionaire's son to live here?"
"I married to live with my husband," she proudly corrected him.
Again he looked around, and suddenly laughed out with an over-loud lack of control that in a woman would have been called hysterical.
"Tony Adriance's house!" he cried, striking his gloved hands together. "Tony—idle Tony, easy Tony, Tony of teas and tangos—Tony has built this! Why——," he bent toward her. "You have been matching work with God, Elsie Adriance; you have made a man!"