Noll stepped into the house, shut the door behind him with his heel, and took her hand:
“Victoria May Alice, I could almost kiss you,” said he, wringing her fingers. “I’m so glad to know you are staying here—with her.”
She laughed:
“Stayin’, Mr. Noll?... I own the whole bloomin’ palace,” said she. “When I’m not at the theatre I am running this show. I go behind the scenes for sordid tragedy; and I listen to lodgers’ complaints for roaring comedy—see? And when you’ve done that often enough, one week with another, you’ve eaten a pretty thick slice of life, I can warn you.... But, you know, you ain’t listenin’ to a word I’m sayin’.”
He laughed embarrassedly:
“Betty is upstairs,” he said.
She nodded:
“H’m, h’m—yes,” she said. “You know such a lot you’d almost think you were her husband, Mr. Noll.”
He let the thrust pass him.
“Victoria,” said he—“why does she work so late?”