“Say, I mustn’t keep you up all night,” he said. “But haven’t we had a fine time? I feel as if I’d _been_ there.”
They had been there so entirely that Miss Alicia brought herself back with difficulty.
“I can scarcely believe that we have not,” she said. “I feel as if I didn’t like to leave it. It was so delightful.” She glanced about her. “The room looks _huge_,” she said--“almost too huge to live in.”
“Doesn’t it?” he answered. “Now you know how I feel.” He gathered his scraps of paper together with a feeling touch. “I didn’t want to come back myself. When I get a bit of a grouch I shall jerk these out and go back there again.”
“Oh, do let me go with you!” she said. “I have so enjoyed it.”
“You shall go whenever you like,” he said. “We’ll keep it up for a sort of game on rainy days. How much is a dollar, Miss Alicia?”
“Four and twopence. And sugar is six cents a pound.”
“Go to the head,” he answered. “Right again.”
The opened roll of newspapers was lying on the table near her. They were copies of “The Earth.” The date of one of them by merest chance caught her eye.
“How odd!” she said. “Those are old papers. Did you notice? Is it a mistake? This one is dated--” She leaned forward, and her eye caught a word in a head-line.
“The Klondike,” she read. “There’s something about the Klondike.” He put his hand out and drew the papers away.
“Don’t you read that,” he said. “I don’t want you to go to bed and dream about the Klondike. You’ve got to dream about the flat in Harlem.”
“Yes,” she answered. “I mustn’t think about sad things. The flat in Harlem is quite happy. But it startled me to see that word.”
“I only sent for them--because I happened to want to look something up,” he explained. “How much is a pound, Miss Alicia?”
“Four dollars and eighty-six cents,” she replied, recovering herself.
“Go up head again. You’re going to stay there.”
When she gave him her hand on their parting for the night, he held it a moment. A subtle combination of things made him do it. The calculations, the measurements, the nest from which one could look out over the Bronx, were prevailing elements in its make-up. Ann had been in each room of the Harlem flat, and she always vaguely reminded him of Ann.
“I am sure we often seem quite near relations--Temple.” She added the name with very pretty kindness.
