Through a mist I watched Lise as she leaned out of the window waving her hand to me, then the cab sharply turned the corner of the street and all I could see was a cloud of dust.
Leaning on my harp, with Capi sprawling at my feet, I stayed there looking absently down the street. A neighbor, who had been asked to lock up the house and keep the key, called to me:
“Are you going to stay there all day?”
“No, I’m off now.”
“Where are you going?”
“Straight ahead.”
“If you’d like to stay,” he said, perhaps out of pity, “I’ll keep you, but I can’t pay you, because you’re not very strong. Later I might give you something.”
I thanked him, but said no.
“Well, as you like; I was only thinking for your own good. Good-by and good luck!”
He went away. The cab had gone, the house was locked up.