“Oh, it’ll be all right for a few days, anyway. Is there a room vacant.”
He was sulky about it. He saw much trouble ahead.
“Why, yes, I suppose there is.”
“Mouse dear!” Istra plumped down on a trunk in the confused billows of incoming baggage, customs officials, and indignant passengers that surged about them on the rough floor of the vast dock-house. She stared up at him with real sorrow in her fine eyes.
“Why, Mouse! I thought you’d be glad to see me. I’ve never rowed with you, have I? I’ve tried not to be temperamental with you. That’s why I wired you, when there are others I’ve known for years.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to seem grouchy; I didn’t! I just wondered if you’d like the house.”
He could have knelt in repentance before his goddess, what time she was but a lonely girl in the clatter of New York. He went on:
“And we’ve got kind of separated, and I didn’t know—But I guess I’ll always—oh—kind of worship you.”
“It’s all right, Mouse. It’s—Here’s the customs men.”
Now Istra Nash knew perfectly that the customs persons were not ready to examine her baggage as yet. But the discussion was ended, and they seemed to understand each other.