"There she was, in the half-darkness of the open doorway, a grey-hatted woman, with a little face thrown up to laugh, laughing at me! And I may have been laughable indeed, with face suited to that unrestrained outburst. I didn't wait for her to speak, I stretched out a hand and drew her by the arm into the hall, and kicked the door to. And she just smiled! with her head a little to one side, she stared up at me, as I still held her arm, and, I suppose, glowered down at her—like a child examining the giant who has caught her. And then, at last, she spoke:
"'I wondered what my welcome would be,' she said softly, 'but I never expected this particular one.'
"Her voice broke my impulses into pieces, as a silver hammer might break coarse grass. I let go of her arm.
"'And of all the welcomes I'd prepared for you, Fay,' I said humbly, 'this particular one never occurred to me. Please—'
"But she didn't seem to be listening, the large, serious eyes were still examining me, my face.
"'Why, Howard, you're quite changed!' she exclaimed. 'You aren't the same Howard at all, the one who used to come to Rutland Gate!'
"'Well, you see, that telephone call last century....' I explained vaguely.
"She nodded her head comprehendingly.
"'Ah, yes, that one that should simply never have happened!' she murmured.
"'I'm frightfully glad to see you again, Fay,' I said, as though irrelevantly, and gravely held out my hand. We shook hands.