Rachel nodded. Of course, it would be Hazlitt. He was always appearing
when least expected. But it would be nice to talk to someone. She
smiled. This was surprising and she shook her head as if she were
carrying on a conversation with herself. George Hazlitt was always
unbearable. But that was a memory. It no longer applied.

"I'm glad you came," she greeted him. "I was lonely."

Hazlitt looked at her in surprise. Visiting Rachel was a matter that
required an extreme of determination. He had come prepared as usual for
the sullen, uncomfortable hour she offered.

"I was going out," she continued, "but I won't now. If you'll sit down
I'll do some work. You won't mind."

She looked at him eagerly as if to tell him he must forget she had
always hated him and that she was different now. At least for the
moment. He understood nothing and remained staring at her. His manner
proclaimed frankly that he was bewildered.

"Yes, certainly," he answered at length, and sat down. She hurried
about, securing her paints and setting up one of the unfinished
posters. Drawing a deep breath Hazlitt lighted a pipe and watched her.
She was beautiful. He admitted it with less belligerency than usual. He
sat thinking, "what the deuce has happened to her. She said she was glad
to see me." He was afraid to start an inquiry. She had never before
smiled at him, let alone voiced pleasure over his presence. It was a
mistake of some sort but he would enjoy it for awhile. But perhaps it
was the beginning of something.

Hazlitt sighed. He smoked, waited, and struggled to avoid the thoughts
that crowded upon him.

"That's rather nice," he said. He would follow her mood, whatever it
was. Rachel's eyes laughed toward him.

"I hope it doesn't bore you. If you hadn't come I would never have
thought of working."

The thing was unbelievable. Yet he contemplated it serenely. He would
talk to her soon and find out what was the matter. There was undoubtedly
something the matter. His eyes stared at her furtively as she returned
to her work. "There's something the matter," his thought cautioned him.
Rachel resumed her talking. A naivete and freshness were in her voice.
She was letting her tongue speak for her and laughing at the sound of
the curious remarks it made.

"Do you think that women are becoming barbarians? The way they mess up
their hair and go in for savage colors! Sometimes I get to feeling that
they will end up as--as psychopathic barbari