But she put to-morrow from her, and in the stillness she felt her spirit smiling for pleasure in him. She had mourned him once; she never would again.
In her pocket lay the key of the street door, and the curtain-cord, long rotted and useless, dangled at her cheek. With a quick wrench she brought its length tumbling beside her on the sill, then knotted it to the key and let it down into the street.
The young man saw it hang before his eyes.
"Are you coming in?" said a voice above him. "Tea is ready."
"Fanny!"
"It has been ready for six weeks."
"Only wait—" He was trying the key in the door.
"What—still longer?" said the voice.
He was gone from the pavement, he had entered her house, he was on her stair—the grey ghost of the soldier!
She had a minute's grace. Slipping her hand into the cupboard she drew out another cup and saucer, and laid the table for two.