“You were standing by your window,” she said. “Mr. Tennant, I think that was the real reason why I came to the wistaria arbor—to thank you for what you have done. You see—you see, I am Marlitt.”
He sank down on the seat opposite.
“Everything has gone wrong,” she said. “I came to thank you—and everything turned out so differently—and I was dreadfully rude to you—”
She covered her face with her hands.
“Then you wrote me that letter,” he said, slowly. In the silence of the gathering dusk the electric lamps snapped alight, flooding the arbor with silvery radiance. He said:
“If a man had written me that letter I should have desired his friendship and offered mine.”
She dropped her hands and looked at him. “Thank you for speaking to Calvert,” she said, rising hastily; “I have been desperately in need of work. My pride is quite dead, you see—one or the other of us had to die.”
She looked down with a gay little smile. “If it wouldn’t spoil you I should tell you what I think of you. Meanwhile, as servitude becomes man, you may tie my shoe for me—Marlitt’s shoe that pinched you.… Tie it tightly, so that I shall not lose it again.… Thank you.”
As he rose, their eyes met once more; and the perilous sweetness in hers fascinated him.
She drew a deep, unsteady breath. “Will you take me home?” she asked.