He had tact enough to take his dismissal without another word or glance, and after he had gone she still stood there in the same rigid pose, but her face was softer and clouded with serious meditation. It was wonderful to think of this rich and powerful man changing his whole life for her.
Winchell, the young barber, came in hurriedly, his face full of accusation and alarm. "Was that Haney who just came in?" he asked, truculently.
"Yes, he's at supper—want to see him?"
"See him? No! And I don't want you to see him! He's too free with you, Bert; I don't like it."
She smiled a little, curious smile. "Don't mix it up with him, Ed—I'd hate to see your remains afterwards."
"Bert, see here! You've been funny with me lately." (By funny he meant unaccountable.) "And your mother has been hinting things at me—and now here is Haney leaving his business to come down the middle of the week. What's the meaning of it?"
"It isn't the middle of the week. It's Friday," she corrected him.
He went on: "I know what he keeps coming to see you for, but for God's sake don't you think of marrying an old tout and gambler like him."
"He isn't old, and he isn't a gambler any more," she significantly retorted.
"What do you mean?"