Never again could she illuminate that torch. The other woman must do that.
She went about quietly from room to room, lowering the shades and drawing the curtains. There was brilliant colour in her cheeks, an undimmed beauty in her eyes; pride crowned the golden head held steady and high on its slender, snowy neck. Only the lips threatened betrayal; and were bitten as punishment into immobility.
Her small steamer trunk went by a rickety private express for fifty cents: with the basket containing Hafiz, her suit-case, and a furled umbrella she started for her new lodgings.
Michael, opening the lower grille for her, stammered: "God knows why ye do this, Miss! Th' young Masther'll be afther givin' me the sack av ye lave the house unbeknowns't him!"
"I can't stay, Michael. He knows I can't. Good-bye!"
"Good-bye Miss! God be good to ye—an' th' pusheen—!" laying a huge but gentle paw on Hafiz's basket whence a gentle plaint arose.
And so Athalie and Hafiz departed into the world together; and presently bivouacked; their first étape on life's long journey ending on the top floor of 1006 West Fifty-fifth Street.
The landlady was a thin, anxious, and very common woman with false hair and teeth; and evidently determined to secure Athalie for a lodger.