She started and turned her head to listen to the sound of some one using the latch-key and opening the front door. The some one came in with the heavy step of a man.
"It is one of the lodgers," she said. "I think it is the one who lives in the third floor sitting-room."
"Then you won't be alone when I go," said Marco. "I am glad some one has come. I will say good-morning. May I tell my father your name?"
"Tell me that you are not angry with me for expressing myself so awkwardly," she said.
"You couldn't have meant it. I know that," Marco answered boyishly. "You couldn't."
"No, I couldn't," she repeated, with the same emphasis on the words.
She took a card from a silver case on the table and gave it to him.
"Your father will remember my name," she said. "I hope he will let me see him and tell him how you took care of me."
She shook his hand warmly and let him go. But just as he reached the door she spoke again.
"Oh, may I ask you to do one thing more before you leave me?" she said suddenly. "I hope you won't mind. Will you run up-stairs into the drawing-room and bring me the purple book from the small table? I shall not mind being alone if I have something to read."