“I was just out walking,” she told him. “I thought you were in Boston.”
“I came home,” he informed her, somewhat superfluously, his eyes never leaving her, wandering hungrily from her face to her new suit, and back again to her face. “I got here on the seven o'clock train, I wanted to see about those new Blubbers.”
“They finished setting them up this afternoon,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“I asked Mr. Orcutt about it—I thought you might telephone.”
“You're a wonder,” was his comment. “Well, we've got a running start on that order,” and he threw a glance over his shoulder at the mill. “Everything going full speed ahead. When we put it through I guess I'll have to give you some of the credit.”
“Oh, I haven't done anything,” she protested.
“More than you think. You've taken so much off my shoulders I couldn't get along without you.” His voice vibrated, reminding her of the voices of those who made sentimental recitations for the graphophone. It sounded absurd, yet it did not repel her: something within her responded to it. “Which way were you going?” he inquired.
“Home,” she said.
“Where do you live?”