in haste: "Oh, I don't mean that Mr. Buck don't make things go all
right. They're awful fond of him. But--I don't know--Miss Kelly said
she never has got over waiting for the sound of your step down the hall
at nine--sort of light and quick and sharp and busy, as if you couldn't
wait till you waded into the day's work. Do you know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean," said Emma.

There was a little pause. The two women so far apart, yet so near; so
different, yet so like, gazed far down into each other's soul.

"Miss it, don't you?" said Hortense.

"Yes; don't you?"

"Do I! Say----" She turned and indicated the women surging up and
down the store aisles, and her glance and gesture were replete with
contempt. "Say; look at 'em! Wandering around here, aimless as a lot
of chickens in a barnyard. Half of 'em are here because they haven't
got anything else to do. Think of it! I've watched 'em lots of times.
They go pawing over silks and laces and trimmings just for the pleasure
of feeling 'em. They stand in front of a glass case with a figure in it
all dressed up in satin and furs and jewels, and you'd think they were
worshiping an idol like they used to in the olden days. They don't seem
to have anything to do. Nothing to occupy their--their heads. Say, if
I thought I was going to be like them in time, I----"

"Hortense, my dear child, you're--you're happy, aren't you? Henry----"

"Well, I should say we are! I'm crazy about Henry, and he thinks I'm
perfect. Honestly, ain't they a scream! They think they're so big and
manly and all, and they're just like kids; ain't it so? We're living
in a four-room apartment in Harlem. We've got it fixed up too cozy for
anything."

"I'd like to come and see you," said Emma. Hortense opened her eyes
wide.

"Honestly; if you would----"

"Let's go up now. I've the car outside."

"Now! Why I--I'd love it!"

They chattered like schoolgirls on the way uptown--these two who had
found so much in common. The little apartment reached, Hortense threw
open the door with the confident gesture of the housekeeper who is not
afraid to have her household taken by surprise--whose housekeeping is
an index of character.

Hortense had been a clean-cut little stenographer. Her correspondence
had always been free from erasures, thumb-marks, errors. Her four-room
flat was as spotless as her typewritten letters had been. The kitchen
shone in its blue and white and nickel