He hesitated a moment before
mounting the steps. "Can that," he murmured
in amazement,--"can that possibly have been
Mrs. Alexander?"
When the servant admitted him, Mrs. Alexander
was still standing in the hallway.
She heard him give his name, and came
forward holding out her hand.
"Is it you, indeed, Professor Wilson? I
was afraid that you might get here before I
did. I was detained at a concert, and Bartley
telephoned that he would be late. Thomas
will show you your room. Had you rather
have your tea brought to you there, or will
you have it down here with me, while we
wait for Bartley?"
Wilson was pleased to find that he had been
the cause of her rapid walk, and with her
he was even more vastly pleased than before.
He followed her through the drawing-room
into the library, where the wide back windows
looked out upon the garden and the sunset
and a fine stretch of silver-colored river.
A harp-shaped elm stood stripped against
the pale-colored evening sky, with ragged
last year's birds' nests in its forks,
and through the bare branches the evening star
quivered in the misty air. The long brown
room breathed the peace of a rich and amply
guarded quiet. Tea was brought in immediately
and placed in front of the wood fire.
Mrs. Alexander sat down in a high-backed
chair and began to pour it, while Wilson sank
into a low seat opposite her and took his cup
with a great sense of ease and harmony and comfort.
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