And then, while he was thus prophesying the weather, Calderon was held to the spot by a new sensation. Within, from some room which he had not entered, came an unknown voice, singing. The voice was sweet, but he did not listen; only the air that was sung made him follow the voice, words forming in his mind, as though he were himself singing:
“The little silver ring that once you gave to me Keeps in its narrow band every promise of ours. . . . ”
Surely he was dreaming! He could not move. The clouds hurried; the darkness enwrapped him. He could not smile at a coincidence, because he could not believe that the song was really being sung. It was too much for him to take in. If Evelyn were there, what could she be feeling, thinking? Calderon was a very honest man, and was considered generally a very cool, unsentimental one; but he was easily moved by the one love of his life. Evelyn was the only woman for him; they were parted; he had found a ring which held just such associations, “memories of the past,” as the song pictured. The ring was more than a ring. It was not merely an ornament; it was the material sign of their love. Calderon was deeply stirred.
Even as he stood there, not daring to move, he felt that he was not alone. Another figure, a woman’s, stood in the doorway. He could see her light dress, the whiteness of her neck; and he found himself breathless, suffocated by the sudden dénouement to his dream.
There was a quick recoil. For a moment it seemed to Calderon that everything was lost, and that he was alone. Then the woman in the doorway stood quite still, breathing quickly, half hidden from him by the doorpost, her face wholly invisible in the murk of the night.
“I didn’t see anybody,” she said unsteadily. “Who are you?” It seemed an unfamiliar voice, rather strangled and more than a little scared.
“Ah! You’re not Evelyn!” Calderon cried. Still he could not see her: only the whiteness glimmered before him. “I’m— My name’s Calderon. I beg your pardon. I thought it was my wife.”
“Calderon!” said the voice; and it seemed to him that it was suddenly filled with a new warmth, as of gayety. Then: “How funny!” said the unknown. He seemed to see her head quickly lowered and averted. Was she smiling? Who could have told, in that foglike darkness? It was as much as he could do to see that she was still before him. But funny? What did that mean?