“No, I don’t see.” He sounded very irritated. “You mean because this cowboy is dead? What’s that got to do with you? Were you crazy about this bird?”
“No, but....” she hesitated. It was hard to express. “Don’t you see, he’s dead and buried and all that. I can’t go on a party. I knew him. I used to go riding with him, and now he’s——”
“Say,” he said flatly, “I don’t see that at all. You’re just worked up over nothing. You’re alone down there, aren’t you?”
“Ye-es.” Her voice was uncertain.
“Now I tell you what you’d better do. You wash your face and get ready and I’ll be right down, as soon as I get dressed. I’ve got to shave. Is there anything to drink down there?”
“I don’t know.” She spoke humbly. She was beginning to feel very foolish and useless.
“Well, you fix a drink and take it. That’ll help you. You’ve just got the blues, that’s all. It’s a shame he’s dead, but you better take a drink. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He was very comforting, but she wished that he hadn’t called just then. She looked dolefully into the bathroom mirror, at her swollen streaked face. Why did she always have to act so dramatic? She rubbed cold cream into her cheeks and felt the tank. There was enough hot water for a bath.
Harvey came before she was ready and she shouted through the door that he must come in and wait. When she came out, wrapped in a bathrobe, he was standing at the window with his pipe in his mouth, looking masculine.
“I’m sorry I was so cuckoo,” she murmured, sincerely.