“Oh, I am so glad!” he repeated, as he turned to the two ladies. The radiant smile on his face bore out his words. “I am afraid the little room—my own place—is full of cigar-smoke. Let me see about the fire here.” He shook the grate vehemently, and poked down the coals through one of the upper windows. “Perhaps it will be warm enough here. Let me bring some chairs.” He bustled into the inner room, and pushed out his own revolving desk-chair, and drew up two others from different ends of the office. The easiest chair of all, which was at Horace’s table, he did not touch. Then, when his two visitors had taken seats, he beamed down upon them once more, and said for the third time:
“I really am delighted!”
Miss Kate put up her short veil with a frank gesture. The unaffected pleasure which shone in Reuben’s face and radiated from his manner was something more exuberant than she had expected, but it was grateful to her, and she and her sister both smiled in response.
“I have an apology to make first of all, Mr. Tracy,” she said, and her voice was the music of the seraphim to his senses. “I don’t think—I am afraid I never answered your kind letter last spring. It is a bad habit of mine; I am the worst correspondent in the world. And then we went away so soon afterward.”
“I beg that you won’t mention it,” said Reuben; and indeed it seemed to him to be a trivial thing now—not worth a thought, much less a word. He had taken a chair also, and was at once intoxicated with the rapture of looking Kate in the face thus again, and nervous lest the room was not warm enough.
“Won’t you loosen your wraps?” he asked, with solicitude. “I am afraid you won’t feel them when you go out.” It was an old formula which he had heard his mother use with callers at the farm, but which he himself had never uttered before in his life. But then he had never before been pervaded with such a tender anxiety for the small comforts of visitors.
Miss Kate opened the throat of her fur coat. “We sha’n’t stay long,” she said. “We must be home to dinner.” She paused for a moment and then asked: “Is there any likelihood of our seeing your partner, Mr. Boyce, here to-day?”
Reuben’s face fell on the instant. Alas, poor fool, he thought, to imagine there were angels’ visits for you!
“No,” he answered, gloomily. “I am afraid not. He is out of town.”
“Oh, we didn’t want to see him,” put in Miss Ethel. “Quite the contrary.”