Granthope waited till the hall door had slammed, then went into the office, where the red-haired boy was lolling out of the window.
"Jim," he said, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, "I shall not need you any more. Here's your pay for the week. You needn't come back."
Jim shuffled into his coat, whistling, pulled on his cap, and left without a trace of regret. Granthope pulled a chair up to the grate. The dusk fell, and he still remained, watching the fire.
It was after six o'clock when a knock awoke him from his reverie. He called out a moody, annoyed, "Come in!" without rising.
Mrs. Page rustled in, bringing an odor of sandalwood. She was dressed in a squirrel-coat and a Cossack cap, from which a long veil floated. Her cheeks were rosy with the wind, her glossy hair coquetted over her forehead in dark, springy curls. She stopped, her head on one side, her arms saucily akimbo, as Granthope sprang up and snapped on the electric light.
"Oh, I'm so glad I found you!" she bubbled. "You're run after so much now that I knew it was only a chance, my finding you in. I hope I didn't disturb you at silent prayer, or anything, did I? You looked terribly serious. Were you thinking of home and mother? If you don't look out, some day you'll be framed and labeled Pictures in the Fire. Now, you're angry with me! What's the matter? Don't frown, please; it isn't at all becoming!"
She walked up to him, her hand outstretched. Lightly he evaded her and forced a smile.
"What an iceberg you are, nowadays, Frank!" she laughed. "Don't be afraid; I'm not going to kiss you! It's only little Violet, the Pride of the Presidio. Please laugh! You used to think that was funny."
"Do have a seat, won't you?" he said, in a half-hearted attempt to conceal his distaste.
"Thanks, awfully, but really I can't wait. I just simply tore to get here, and I must go right off. You must come along with me; so get on your hat and coat." She looked about the room for them.