“I can't imagine anything pleasanter; but I wish you'd explain just how—”
Sidney smiled at him. As he stood on the lowest step, their eyes were almost level.
“If I walk with you, they'll know I'm not engaged to Joe,” she said, with engaging directness.
The house was quiet. He waited in the lower hall until she had reached the top of the staircase. For some curious reason, in the time to come, that was the way Sidney always remembered K. Le Moyne—standing in the little hall, one hand upstretched to shut off the gas overhead, and his eyes on hers above.
“Good-night,” said K. Le Moyne. And all the things he had put out of his life were in his voice.
CHAPTER IV
On the morning after Sidney had invited K. Le Moyne to take her to walk, Max Wilson came down to breakfast rather late. Dr. Ed had breakfasted an hour before, and had already attended, with much profanity on the part of the patient, to a boil on the back of Mr. Rosenfeld's neck.
“Better change your laundry,” cheerfully advised Dr. Ed, cutting a strip of adhesive plaster. “Your neck's irritated from your white collars.”
Rosenfeld eyed him suspiciously, but, possessing a sense of humor also, he grinned.