That evening, when Halleck came to his sister's room to bid her good night, she threw her arms round his neck, and kissed his plain, common face, in which she saw a heavenly beauty.
“Ben, dear,” she said, “if you don't turn out the happiest man in the world, I shall say there's no use in being good!”
“Perhaps you'd better say that after all I wasn't good,” he suggested, with a melancholy smile.
“I shall know better,” she retorted.
“Why, what's the matter, now?”
“Nothing. I was only thinking. Good night!”
“Good night,” said Halleck. “You seem to think my room is better than my company, good as I am.”
“Yes,” she said, laughing in that breathless way which means weeping next, with women. Her eyes glistened.
“Well,” said Halleck, limping out of the room, “you're quite good-looking with your hair down, Olive.”
“All girls are,” she answered. She leaned out of her doorway to watch him as he limped down the corridor to his own room. There was something pathetic, something disappointed and weary in the movement of his figure, and when she shut her door, and ran back to her mirror, she could not see the good-looking girl there for her tears.