"Why, Charlie—where's your hat?" she asked.
Charlie chuckled. "It's downstairs," he said.
The two women, young and old, turned to look at him; Moira breathlessly repeated the word. "Downstairs?"
"Yes; I thought I should surprise you," exclaimed Charlie. "I've taken the two empty rooms below; father's been hammering it into me ever so long—thought the other place wasn't respectable. I did it quietly, so as to surprise you; I moved in my books and things this afternoon. Now you'll have to look after me, Moira, and see that I work."
They were silent; Moira had stolen a glance at Patience, and was striving perhaps to hide the feeling of exultation that made her heart beat faster, and brought a flush to her pale face. There had swept over her the thought that Charlie would be in this very house—cheerful, light-hearted, happy-go-lucky Charlie; that he could run upstairs at any moment—that she could go down to him! No longer would she be tied to these rooms, with Patience for company; half the house would be practically hers, because Charlie lived below.
"I don't know as you'll find it comfortable," said Patience, after a somewhat awkward pause. "We're very quiet people here."
"That'll just suit me," said Charlie, with a grin. "You don't know how quiet I can be when I try. Well, Moira"—he turned towards the girl a little anxiously—"aren't you glad?"
"Yes—I'm very glad," she replied, afraid almost to think how glad she was.
For the first few evenings, at least, Charlie brought his books upstairs; and that was delightful. Simply to have him there at the end of the table, and to hear him muttering weird words to himself when he couldn't quite understand anything; to see him puffing at his pipe (for Patience, after a feeble protest, had given in, and now merely sniffed ominously from time to time), all this was as it should be. Once or twice, too, Moira went down to his rooms, saw the wonderful array of books and pipes, and wondered and admired. The house was completely changed with his coming, and could never be the same again.
He was sitting one evening yawning over his books, and now and then glancing up at the pleasant figure of Moira at the other side of the table, when he raised his head, and sat still, listening; someone was coming up the stairs. That was strange at that hour of the evening; it must be a visitor who had been directed to come up by the landlady. Patience was nodding in her chair as usual; the two young people whispered eagerly, as they listened to the somewhat stumbling steps upon the stairs.