"Hungry!"
The woman's words seemed to come to him with the force of revelation.
"Hungry!" She turned her head away. "Oh, my God, Nelly." His voice trembled. "Wa-wait here, I--I sha'n't be a moment. I've a cab at the door."
He was back almost as soon as he went. He brought with him half the contents of a shop--among other things, a packet of candles. These he lighted, standing them, on their own ends, here and there about the room. The woman ate shyly, as if, in spite of her confession of hunger, she had little taste for food. She was fingering the faded photograph of a girl which Mr. Gibbs had taken from his pocket-book.
"Is this my portrait?"
"Nelly! Don't you remember it?"
"How long is it since it was taken?"
"Why, it's more than seven years, isn't it?"
"Do you think I've altered much?"
Mr. Gibbs went to her. He studied her by the light of the candles.