"You're doing everything for me."
"Our room is at the head of the stairs, the first door to the left,
Tom," she said, rising. Her face was very pale; she looked old. "The
bath adjoins it. If you don't mind I'll stay downstairs awhile. I have
many papers to look over and some letters to write."
He went upstairs to the wide, high bed-chamber with its azure walls.
For a long time he stood in the middle of the room, looking around in
dull amazement and doubt. Was it really true that he was there, in the
midst of all this elegance and comfort? He glanced at his big hands
and started with shame. They were not very clean. The soiled cuffs of
an ill-fitting "hickory" shirt came down over his wrists.
Involuntarily he pushed them up. The greenish-gray of the coarse jeans
garments he wore, clumsy and crumpled, was sadly out of harmony with
the delicate, refined colors that surrounded him. It seemed to him all
at once that he _jarred on himself_.
Suddenly his gaze fell upon a neatly folded suit of clothes lying
across the foot of the bed. The garments were dark blue, with a thin
stripe running through the cloth, and they were new.
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