If she had cried, things might have been different for every one; for perhaps K. would have taken her in his arms. He was heart-hungry enough, those days, for anything. And perhaps, too, being intuitive, Christine felt this. But she had no mind to force him into a situation against his will.
“It is because you are good,” she said, and held out her hand. “Good-night.”
Le Moyne took it and bent over and kissed it lightly. There was in the kiss all that he could not say of respect, of affection and understanding.
“Good-night, Christine,” he said, and went into the hall and upstairs.
The lamp was not lighted in his room, but the street light glowed through the windows. Once again the waving fronds of the ailanthus tree flung ghostly shadows on the walls. There was a faint sweet odor of blossoms, so soon to become rank and heavy.
Over the floor in a wild zigzag darted a strip of white paper which disappeared under the bureau. Reginald was building another nest.
CHAPTER XXI
Sidney went into the operating-room late in the spring as the result of a conversation between the younger Wilson and the Head.
“When are you going to put my protegee into the operating-room?” asked Wilson, meeting Miss Gregg in a corridor one bright, spring afternoon.