New York was getting uncomfortably small for King Dubignon. The world itself didn’t feel too large.
Then the window at the end of the Throckmorton hall was finished by the factory and skilled workmen placed it. King went around by appointment to view it Christmas eve with the arc light of the street shining through, the hall lights dimmed. It represented a river night scene, New York’s skyline in the distance and the stars above. On the water in the foreground floated a boy and on his breast lay the face of a sleeping child, her arms clasping his shoulders. A beam of light disclosed the two faces. In design, in execution, in effect, it was admirable. Even King, sitting off up the hallway with Mr. Throckmorton, for the perspective, could find no fault, though, naturally, modesty checked pride.
And then to King Dubignon came the shock by which all other emotions measured as tremors. It was as though lightning had descended on his uncovered head. For a lady’s maid, in cap and apron, stood by Mr. Throckmorton, saying:
“A call, sir, at the private phone.” And that maid was Billee. She saw him as he swayed to his feet, and drew back timidly, lifting a warning hand behind the banker’s vanishing form.
“Billee!” he gasped. “You! You!” He rushed toward her, but she side-stepped hurriedly, whispering:
“Don’t, King! Think of what you are doing! This house, a waiting maid! It’s ruin for you! Don’t spoil all! And think of me!” He hesitated and sank groaning into a chair.
“I was thinking of you,” he said weakly.
“Are you so sorry for me as that?” she said, standing with downcast eyes.
“Sorry? Sorry for you? Just wait till I get you outside. Sorry? Child, we’ve got the biggest thing coming you ever dreamed of! I am full partner in the firm now. It’s Beeker, Toomer & Dubignon. I’ve made good! Have you seen the evening papers? Every notable piece of work I have done for New York is mentioned; there is a picture of my office building, and all about my family. Billee, the world is mine, and you are the most wonderful thing in it!”