"Deed it is, Miss. Would ye care f'r to look around. There is nothing changed there. I dust it meself."
"Yes," said the girl in a low voice, "I will look at it."
So Michael took her up in the lift, unlocked the door for her, and then with the fine instinct of his race, forbore to follow her.
The shades in the square living-room were lowered; she raised one. And the dim, golden past took shadowy shape again before her eyes.
"'Michael,' she said, smiling."
She moved slowly from one object to another, touching caressingly where memory was tenderest. She looked at the furniture, the pictures,—at the fireplace where in her mind's eye she could see him bending to light the first fire that had ever blazed there.