As Watts left the hall, a servant entered it.
“I had to wait, Miss D’Alloi,” he said. “No papers are for sale till eight o’clock.”
Leonore took the newspaper silently and went to the library. Then she opened it and looked at the first column. She read it hurriedly.
“I knew he wasn’t hurt,” she said, “because I would have felt it, and because he had my luck piece.” Then she stepped out of one of the windows, called Bêtise to her, and putting her arms about his neck, kissed him.
When the New York papers came things were even better, for they recorded the end of the strike. Leonore even laughed over that big, big D. “I can’t imagine him getting so angry,” she said “He must have a temper, after all.” She sang a little, as she fixed the flowers in the vases, and one of the songs was “Happiness.” Nor did she snub a man who hinted at afternoon tea, as she had a poor unfortunate who suggested tennis earlier in the day.
While they were sipping their tea, however, Watts came in from the club.
“Helen,” he said, going to the bay window farthest from the tea-table, “come here I want to say something.”
They whispered for a moment, and then Mrs. D’Alloi came back to her tea.
“Won’t you have a cup, papa?” asked Leonore.
“‘Not to-day, dear,” said Watts, with an unusual tenderness in his voice.