He pressed it gently and was gone.
He reached New York thoroughly exhausted and blue. The struggles through which he had passed had left him bruised. He spent a sleepless night on the train fighting its scenes over and over. He had told her their relations on any terms must cease, and yet he knew instinctively that another struggle was possible on her return. He made up his mind at once to avoid this meeting.
The sight of Harriet seated on the stoop of the old home by the Square watching a crowd of children play brought a smile back to his haggard face.
He waved to her a block away and she sprang to her feet answering with a cry of joy. The startling contrast between the women struck him again. She met him at the corner with outstretched hands.
"What a jolly scene, little pal!" he cried. "What's the kid's convention about?"
"They've come to honour me with their good wishes on my voyage."
"What voyage?" he asked in surprise.
"Oh, you didn't know—I've an engagement to sing on the Continent this summer—the news came the day you left. Isn't that fine? I sail next week."
A sudden idea struck him. He dropped the bag he was carrying and exclaimed:
"By George, it is just the thing!"