Catherine stood up, cautiously. She was stiff, almost dizzy, as if she had bent so long over packing boxes and trunks that her head couldn't without penalty be held upright. Well, it was done. Incredible and astonishing, that the disorder and confusion had come to an end.
"All ready, dear?" Charles stood in the doorway, buttoning his coat, patting his tie into place. "About time we got off."
"Be sure there is nothing left." Catherine went slowly through the rooms, listening to the walls return her footsteps emptily.
In the kitchen Mrs. O'Lay poked among the salvage, bundles, piles, an old black hat of Catherine's mounted rakishly on a box of breakfast food, a dingy cotton duck of Letty's, limp from loss of stuffing.
"I'll finish up here, Mis' Hammond." The broad red face was creased into downward wrinkles. "Sure, an' I hate to see the end of you," she said. "It's fine for you you got a tenant to come in right away, but we'll miss you."
"Taxi, Catherine!" shouted Charles.
"Good-by, God love you!" Mrs. O'Lay waved her out of the apartment onto the elevator.
"Well, we certainly got things off in great style, eh?" Charles beside her in the cab, the bags stowed at their feet, had his erect, briskly managing air. "Everything done, and time for dinner before your train."
Catherine was sunk in a lethargy of weariness; dimly she still sorted, packed, gave directions.
"You know, I forgot about the gas deposit." She emerged frantically from her lethargy. "Five dollars!"