And whom should she see on the corner but that young man, standing there patiently! She came up behind him, cautiously as a hunter stalking a deer, and touched him on the arm.
“Well!” she cried, in pretended surprise. “Mr. Landry!”
She knew that he was waiting for Rosaleen, but she knew also that he wouldn’t like her to know that. Oh, she did understand something of men! She knew that his pride must be saved at any cost. So, when she saw a bus drawing near, she pretended to believe that he was about to get into it, and entreated him not to.
“Oh, don’t get in!” she cried. “I wish you’d just stop in at my studio and have a little lunch with Rosaleen and me. You’re not in too much of a hurry, are you?”
He smiled down at the dishevelled and anxious creature with streaming white hair—like a witch, he thought. He was pleased that she thought he had been waiting for the bus, and he was very glad that neither she nor anyone else knew that he had waited there on that corner on Friday as well, remembering what he had been told were the days and hours of Rosaleen’s lessons. And he was delighted that he could see Rosaleen and pretend that it was accidental. He was surprised and a little ashamed at his own longing to see her, by this feeling which he could not deny or resist, for a girl of whom he knew nothing.
“I’d be very pleased,” he said. And turned and walked down the street, with Miss Waters hanging on his arm, both pockets of her famous fur coat bulging with delicatessen.
“How is your work coming on?” he asked Miss Waters. “‘The School?’ The one you showed me?”
“Oh!” she cried, archly, delighted at his remembering. “The idea! I haven’t done much more on it since then. However, I’ll show you.”
She led him down the hall, and at the door of her flat turned, with a finger at her lips.
“Surprise her!” she whispered.