Eris entered the bed-room. It was large. So was the bed, a four-poster. So was the furniture.
“Here’s your bath-room,” he remarked, opening a door into a white-tiled room. He stepped inside to be certain. There were plenty of towels, soap still in its wrapper, a row of bottles with flowers painted on them—evidently for masculine use—cologne, bay rum, witch hazel, hair-tonic.
“Now,” he said, “your worries are over until to-morrow. There’s your tub, there’s your bed, there’s a key in the door. Lock it when you turn in. And don’t you stir until they bring your breakfast in the morning.”
Eris nodded.
“All right. Good-night.”
She turned toward him as though still a little bewildered.
“Are you going?” she asked timidly.
“Yes. Is there anything you need?”
“No.... I would like to thank you—if you are going....”
“Little pilgrim,” he said, “I want to thank you for an interesting evening.”