A sound fell behind them and both turned. A slight figure, in a soft gray gown with old lace at the throat, stood in the doorway behind them. John Valiant sprang to his feet.
“Ah, Shirley, I thought I heard voices. Is that you, Chilly?”
“It’s not Mr. Lusk, mother,” said Shirley. “It’s our new neighbor, Mr. Valiant.”
As he bent over the frail hand, murmuring the conventional words that presentations are believed to require, Mrs. Dandridge sank into a deep cushioned chair. “Won’t you sit down?” she said. He noticed that she did not look directly at him, and that her face was as pallid as her hair.
“Thank you,” said John Valiant, and resumed his place on the lower step.
Shirley, who had again seated herself, suddenly laughed, and pointed to the book which lay between them. “Imagine what we were doing, dearest! We were reading Lucile together.”
She saw the other wince, and the deep dark eyes lifted, as if under compulsion, from the book-cover to Valiant’s face. He was startled by Shirley’s cry and the sudden limp unconscious settling-back into the cushions of the fragile form.