“Dear,” he said gently, “we are here. Do you feel strong enough to stand, or shall I carry you?”
If her smile were faintly wise it also was tenderly ironical. God knew—and had whispered to her—who it was between these two who would do the carrying; and who it would be who was carried by the stronger.
“Darling,” she murmured, “you’re so funny. I only needed a nap because I didn’t sleep last night.”
“Have you really been asleep, Eris?”
“Well, I had visions, anyhow. Please pay this frightfully expensive taxi and carry up my luggage, because Hattie has left and I’m going to cook our dinner.”
They climbed the bare and poorly lighted stairs. Eris fumbled for her keys, selected the right one, and opened the door. The whole place was sweet with the scent of flowers.
As always, the girl’s gratitude was out of all proportion for anything offered her; and now, in the living-room, she stood enchanted, gazing at the flowers, touching them here and there with finger tip and lip.
“Oh,” she murmured, “you are so sweet to me, Barry.... And you must have brought them and arranged them while I was out.” She turned, happily, and took both his hands. And saw the darkness of impending trouble in his clouded face.
“Darling?” she exclaimed.
“It’s nothing, Eris.... That miserable wench of yours lied about you.... I suppose I’d better tell you——”