A customer came and went, and then Nat noticed that twilight was beginning to darken the store. Though the hour wasn't late and the evenings were long at that season, the windows faced the east, and there were huge, overshadowing elms outside—just then heavy with luxuriant foliage; so dusk was always early in the room.
It was one of Nat's axioms that a store, to be successful, should be always brilliantly lighted. It was a bit expensive, perhaps, but in the long run it paid. For that reason he installed electric light as soon as he felt the business could afford it.
Now he moved to the windows and switched on the bulbs behind the huge glass jars filled with tinted water. Returning, he was about to connect up the remainder of the illuminating system, when Josie, entering, stayed him. Later he was glad of this.
"Nat..."
He knew that voice. "Why, Josie!" he exclaimed in surprise, swinging about to discover her standing on the threshold—very dainty and fetching, indeed, in one of the summery frocks she had brought back from New York.
She moved over to him, holding out her hand. He took it with disguised reluctance. "Where's Tracey?" she asked with a look that first held his eyes, then reviewed the store.
"This is his afternoon off," Nat reminded her.
"Then you're all alone?" she deduced archly.
"Oh, quite...."
"I'm so glad." She sighed and dropped into a chair by the soda-water counter. "I wanted to see you—to talk to you alone."