Vera had a sense of tragedy. It gave her access to his feelings. She walked over to the divan, knelt down, took his head in her arms and kissed him. This of all her memorable gestures was the finest. And it was spoiled. Or was it saved, perhaps? She might not have known how to end it.
“Ouch!” said Galt. “A pin sticks me.”
He got up.
“Come on, Coxey, I want to show you something in the office upstairs.”
That was subterfuge. He only wished to get away. We took the elevator and left them. He went directly to his bedroom, ripped off his collar and threw it on the floor, kicked off his shoes, and cast himself wearily on the bed. There he lay, on the costly lace counterpane, lined with pink silk, a forlorn and shabby figure.
Presently Mrs. Galt timidly appeared at the door, followed by Vera and Natalie. They were a little out of breath, having walked up, not knowing how to manage the elevator.
“It’s lovely ... perfectly splendid!” said Mrs. Galt, sitting on the bed and taking his hand. “I’m only sorry I haven’t words to tell you—” And she began to weep again.
“Don’t,” said Galt. “How does Gram’ma like it?”
“Hadn’t we better start home now?” said Mrs. Galt.