When she returned from this errand Albert was at hand; he had been let in by Horace and was sitting relaxed in his chair, recounting his day.
“I’m dead tired,” he said, when they were alone. He began to tell of his journey through three counties. His eyes were weary and listless, heavily troubled, and his voice was monotonous. Under his apathetic gaze he seemed to be looking at her lazily or sadly, as if he were sad for the weariness that now oppressed him.
“Back to Corinth, Monday that was, and then on to Mayfair.... Broke an axle and got stuck in a mud hole.... On to Johntown.... Over to Richelieu.... Back to Johntown.... By that time it was last night.” He seemed to be looking at her with some extra vision that shone from under the gaze of his shifting eyes.
“Already been all up in around Payne Lick and over beyond the Ridge. Over into the far side of the river. Had no sleep for a week till last night. Slept last night like a log.”
Theodosia sat on the chair of the blue cushions and the parlor was arranged as Conway had left it, as he had settled it to the afternoon light. Albert seemed suffused in sadness now, and the tale of his wanderings in behalf of the farmers would scarcely hold together longer. The end of the week had come and the end of his odyssey. The day in the town with eminent speakers from outside followed, touched sparingly. He had arrived soon after noon. He had worked all afternoon in one of the offices, seeing men. There was a greater plan for coöperative selling on foot, a tight pool. Finally he said:
“You know Florence Agnew?”
“Oh, yes, I know her.”
“Do you like her?”
“How do I know?... I don’t have to like her, do I?”
“What you think about her looks?”