He thought for a moment, then locked the door, and went up the stairs. But Eleanore must have heard his approaching footsteps; for she stepped hastily out into the vestibule, and said with evident embarrassment: “Please stay downstairs, Daniel; Father is asleep. If you wish I will come down to the living room.”
She did not wait for his answer, but went into her room, got the table lamp, and followed Daniel to the living room. Daniel closed the window, and shook as if he were cold; for it was a cool night, and there was no fire in the stove.
“What is this I smell?” he asked. “Have you so many flowers up in your room?”
“Yes, I have some flowers,” replied Eleanore, and blushed.
He looked at her rather sharply, but was disinclined to make any further inquiry, or he was not interested in knowing what this all meant. He walked around the room with his hands in his pockets.
Eleanore had sat down on a chair; she never once took her eyes off Daniel.
“Listen, Daniel,” she said suddenly, and the violin tone of her voice lifted him from his mute and heavy meditations, “I know now what Father is doing.”
“Well, what is the old man doing?” asked Daniel distractedly.
“He is working at a doll, Daniel.”
“At a doll? Are you trying to poke fun at me?”