Bob went off and Mrs. Austin took Kit to another room and gave him a cigarette, but for a few minutes she said nothing and Kit looked about. Although the furniture was cheap, the small room was pretty and homelike. The electrolier was shaded and the light was soft. Kit heard the wind in the basement stove under the thin boards and the dry warmth was soothing. A willow tapped the window, and he saw frost on the glass. Then he glanced at his hostess. Carrie Austin was young and attractive, but now her look was firm.
“Perhaps you know why I sent Bob off?” she said.
“I imagined you had an object,” Kit admitted.
“Well, perhaps you have heard he goes back to the drawing office at the bridge works for the winter?”
“He said nothing about it. If it implies your giving up your house, I’m sorry.”
“To give up the house would not disturb me much. Has Wheeler not told you he means you to carry on?”
“Although I thought nothing was fixed, I expected to stay,” said Kit. “In fact, I was rather bucked about it, and I hoped for your congratulations.”
Mrs. Austin gave him a queer look. “Then you must think me very generous! Bob’s my husband.”
Kit began to see a light. He, however, waited and Mrs. Austin resumed:
“You admit that but for Bob you might not have been promoted?”