He swept her into his arms again, and held her in unresisting happiness.
It was dark when he swung the gray car against the curb and sprang out. He didn't blow his horn for her to come down. The privilege she had granted was too sweet and wonderful. He wouldn't miss it for the world.
The stairs were dark. Ella was late this afternoon getting back to her work. His light footstep scarcely made a sound. He found each step with quick, instinctive touch. The building seemed deserted. The tenants were all on trips to the country and the seashore. The day was one of rare beauty and warmth. Someone was fumbling in the dark on the third floor back.
He made his way quickly to her room, and softly knocked, waited a moment and knocked again. There was no response. He couldn't be mistaken. He had seen her lean out of that window every day the past week.
Perhaps she was busy in the kitchenette and the noise from the street made it impossible to hear.
He placed his hand on the doorknob.
From the darkness of the hall, in a quick, tiger leap, Ella threw herself on him and grappled for his throat.
“What are you doing at that door, you dirty thief?” she growled.
“Here! Here! What'ell—what's the matter with you?” he gasped, gripping her hands and tearing them from his neck. “I'm no thief!”
“You are! You are, too!” she shrieked. “I heard you sneak in the door downstairs—heard you slippin' like a cat upstairs! Get out of here before I call a cop!”