There was a smart look about the place. The chairs had a fresh coat of paint, the oilcloth on the table was white and new, and every bit of metal was polished, from the knob on the oven door to the faucets at the sink. The agate tea-kettle was gone, its place taken by one of shining aluminum. At the windows the flowers blossomed with lovely profusion, geraniums sharing the boxes with trailing green vines and marguerites. Even the floor had shared in the general sprucing up and shone with paint and varnish.
Taking in the many changes about her, commenting on this and that, Hertha suddenly rose and going to a shelf above the stove, took down a pipe. She turned it in her hand and said with a trembling little smile, that would have been mischievous if it had had the strength, "I wouldn't have thought it of you, and you so young. Wait till you're an old woman."
Kathleen was too happy in her friend's returning brightness to be able to retort. She could only answer, looking very foolish: "You've taken a glance about the room and can see for yourself what's happened. I was that lonely after you went away I hadn't the will to deny him. He came in one day with the license in his pocket, and nothing for it but we must go to the mayor to be tied together. So I put on my hat and went with him."
"I am so glad!" Hertha's eyes shone with unselfish pleasure. "I liked him very much. But where is he?"
"In your old room, darling, sleeping as quiet as a baby. He goes to bed each night at half-past ten and at eleven he's breathing as regular as if there was never a care in the world. He wanted me to live in his place, but when I caught a sight of his landlady's face I brought him here. It would have been strychnine in my tea if she had had the chance, she was that fond of him."
"I don't wonder a bit."
Kathleen's kimona trailing behind her on the polished floor, Hertha walked about the room, examining each newly acquired article. "How pretty and shipshape everything looks!"
"Wait till you see the parlor with the piano!" Kathleen's raillery could not conceal her pride. "We have music every night from half-past eight to half-past nine precisely. It's his daily practising. But we go by the clock these days!"
"You like it," Hertha declared, "I know you do," and she received no denial.
Tucked in bed in the room that was once Kathleen's, her hair lying, a braid on either side of her face, she looked younger and more childlike than when she had lived here, months before. But only for a minute. Away from the brightness of the kitchen the harassed, frightened look returned. Her sorrow rushed back and clutching her friend's hand she held her to her side.