“Yes, we all have them, I guess,” he dismissed, “along with an appendix and a few other superfluous items.” He was still standing just within the doorway. “First of all, though, I don’t intrude? Harry Randall told me about your father.”
“He’s been much better to-day, and he’s asleep this evening already.” In swift reaction the girl was herself again, more than her recent self, positively gay. “Intrude!” she laughed softly. “You’re actually becoming humorous; and as you would say, your dearest enemies have never accused you of that before. Come.”
Between genteel poverty and absolute poverty there are distinguishing signs and Darley Roberts observed all things; but not once from his point of vantage in the den he recalled so well did he seem to take observations—any more than he seemed to see the alteration, likewise unmistakable, in the girl herself. 332
“It seems as though it were only yesterday instead of—I don’t like to think how many ages ago, I was here last,” he commented as he relaxed in familiar comfort. “If you just had one of those linen things you used to work on, and—”
The ball of white, like a crumpled handkerchief, which had been lying idle in the girl’s lap was unrolled and, before the speaker’s eyes, there appeared against the colorless background a clover with four leaves.
“Elice!” It was unfeigned surprise. “Is this another regiment or are you still working on that last one yet?”
The girl sorted her silks in demure impassivity.
“Another regiment entirely—or is it an army? I’ve forgotten how many comprise a regiment.” She went to work with steady fingers. “These lunch cloths of mine are becoming as staple as soap or quinine.”
Roberts watched as the needle went through and through, but he did not smile. He could not.
“Another regiment! Then I haven’t really been sleeping,” he said. “For a moment when that four-leafed clover showed—By the way, do you happen to recall what day of the month this is?” 333