She had rearranged the office, that is, she had added to the number of lights, since there were only two bulbs when she came. Now there were six. Over the desk set one, and it had a reflector. When he pressed the button, the room became instantly illuminated by the bright rays, while the one on the desk reflected full into her face.
She said something and turned her face, while he gave a start and cried:
"You!"
The next moment, he fell back and observed her strangely. She sat as he had found her, with head lowered and heart thumping violently. He advanced after a pause, and stood close to her, regarding her with a look that was stranger still. He appeared to be at a loss what to say or do; then he raised his hand to his forehead, while his gaze was one of utter blankness. It occurred to her then, that he might be impaired in some way, after such a severe illness. So, with an effort, she rose boldly from the chair, and facing him, said:
"Yes, it is I, Sid—Mr. Wyeth." She was compelled, by the thumping of her heart, to hesitate for a moment, and then she continued, more calmly: "I have made bold to come here during your illness, and—and—take charge of your work. I hope," she was now faltering, while he was regarding her without understanding, from the expression he wore. And—oh! She saw it now. He was regarding her with disfavor. A frown played about his lips that appeared drawn and thin, while his eyes gradually changed until they were openly hostile—contempt almost could be read. She turned her eyes away.
This was her reward. She choked. Her brain became a whirl for a moment. She had tried to help him, and had succeeded. She had thought of it in that way; she now strangely realized that she had not expected any thanks—indeed, she had never thought of anything but to make the business a success. And, she was positive, that she had not expected any reward.
She was saying something. She was not fully aware what it was, and her head hung down, while her eyes sought the floor, instead of his face with the hostile expression.
"I hope you—won't—won't be angry!" With a great effort, during which she felt he was regarding her in the same critical manner, although she was careful not to glance into his face, she explained briefly what had transpired during his absence. "And so," she concluded, "here is everything drawn down to date," and with that, she suddenly caught up her light coat, drew her turban hat over her head, and went toward the door.
As she did so, she was aware that he had turned and was looking after her. She paused when she reached the door, and thought of his illness. He might take sick again. She saw his eyes now for a brief moment, and they were upon her. She could not read them altogether, but it seemed as if the hostility was gone, and a look that bordered on appeal had taken its place. Her gaze lingered kindly, and then she said:
"You are ill—have been. Please be careful." And, in spite of the effort it cost her to say it, she added: "I will come again tomorrow," and was gone.