Dora obeyed, and watched him as she drew on her gloves. When the last button was fastened, she took up her muff.
“Good-bye—good-bye!” he grunted brusquely, offering a bony hand.
“Oh, good-bye—good-bye, you dear, dear old man!” she cried, dropping on her knees beside him once more, and flinging her arms around his neck, weeping for joy at the great news.
“Get away! Get away! You’ll kill me. Enough—enough for one day.”
She kissed him, and he broke down. When she released him, he fell back on his pillows, breathing heavily. There were tears in his eyes. Trimmer entered at the opportune moment, and opened the door. Dora passed out and ran down the stairs. When in the open air, she wanted to dance, to laugh, to cry, to sing, all at once in the centre of the drive. Only a stern sense of decorum prevented an hysterical outburst. She walked faster and faster, until she almost ran.
“Dick! Dick! Dick!” she cried, shouting riotously to the leafless elms in the avenue, and scampering like a joyous child. She waved her arms and sang to the breeze.