I had to swallow twice before I could speak. Then I said sharply:
“Who’s there?”
The man was so close it is a wonder I had not walked into him; his voice was right at my ear.
“I am sorry I startled you,” he said quietly. “I was afraid to speak suddenly, or move, for fear I would do—what I have done.”
It was Mr. Harbison.
“I—I thought you were—it is very late,” I managed to say, with dry lips. “Do you know where the electric switch is?”
“Mrs. Wilson!” It was clear he had not known me before. “Why, no; don’t you?”
“I am all confused,” I muttered, and beat a retreat into the dining room. There, in the friendly light, we could at least see each other, and I think he was as much impressed by the fact that I had not undressed as I was by the fact that he HAD, partly. He wore a hideous dressing gown of Jimmy’s, much too small, and his hair, parted and plastered down in the early evening, stood up in a sort of brown brush all over his head. He was trying to flatten it with his hands.
“It must be three o’clock,” he said, with polite surprise, “and the house is like a barn. You ought not to be running around with your arms uncovered, Mrs. Wilson. Surely you could have called some of us.”
“I didn’t wish to disturb any one,” I said, with distinct truth.