Wilson chuckled. "Dear me, am I? Out of so many conquests and the spoils

of conquered cities! You've really missed me? Well, then, I shall hang.

Even if you have at last to put ME in the mummy-room with the others.

You'll visit me often, won't you?"

"Every day in the calendar. Here, your cigarettes are in this drawer,

where you left them." She struck a match and lit one for him. "But you

did, after all, enjoy being at home again?"

"Oh, yes. I found the long railway journeys trying. People live a

thousand miles apart. But I did it thoroughly; I was all over the place.

It was in Boston I lingered longest."

"Ah, you saw Mrs. Alexander?"

"Often. I dined with her, and had tea there a dozen different times,

I should think. Indeed, it was to see her that I lingered on and on.

I found that I still loved to go to the house. It always seemed as if

Bartley were there, somehow, and that at any moment one might hear his

heavy tramp on the stairs. Do you know, I kept feeling that he must be

up in his study." The Professor looked reflectively into the grate. "I

should really have liked to go up there. That was where I had my last

long talk with him. But Mrs. Alexander never suggested it."

"Why?"

Wilson was a little startled by her tone, and he turned his head so

quickly that his cuff-link caught the string of his nose-glasses and

pulled them awry. "Why? Why, dear me, I don't know. She probably never

thought of it."

Hilda bit her lip. "I don't know what made me say that. I didn't mean to

interrupt. Go on please, and tell me how it was."

"Well, it was like that. Almost as if he were there. In a way, he really

is there. She never lets him go. It's the most beautiful and dignified

sorrow I've ever known. It's so beautiful that it has its compensations,

I should think. Its very completeness is a compensation. It gives her

a fixed star to steer by. She doesn't drift. We sat there evening after

evening in the quiet of that magically haunted room, and watched the

sunset burn on the river, and felt him. Felt him with a difference, of

course."

Hilda leaned forward, her elbow on her knee, her chin on her hand. "With

a difference? Because of her, you mean?"

Wilson's brow wrinkled. "Something like that, yes. Of course, as

time goes on, to her he becomes more and more their simple personal

relation."




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