There were steps in the hall and then, peeping round the door-frame was the
face of his young neighbour.
"Hello," he said, "I thought you were out somewhere. Come in."
"No, I'm going to bed," she answered, nevertheless gradually edging into
the room. She was wearing a loose wrapper of flowered silk, somewhat worn
and never very fine. Her black hair hung in a long thick braid to her waist
and she looked even younger than usual.
"Where have you been all evening?" asked Howard.
"Oh, I've been up to see a friend. She lives in Harlem, and she wants me to
come and live with her."
"Are you going?" Howard inquired, noting that he was interested and not
pleased. "The house wouldn't seem natural without you."
She gave him a quick, gratified glance and, advancing further into the
room, sat upon the arm of the big rocking-chair. "She gave me a good
talking to," she went on with a smile. "She told me I ought not to live
alone at my age. She said I ought to live with her and meet some friends of
hers. She said maybe I'd find a nice fellow to marry."
Howard thought over this as he smoked and at last said in an ostentatiously
judicial tone: "Well, I think she's right. I don't see what else there is
to do. You can't live on down here alone always.
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