inging
incessantly.

He was thinking about Mary Faithful's pleasant manner, the atmosphere
of the old-fashioned house, where there was no effort to be smart or
gorgeous or to conceal its shabbiness. He hoped Mary would return to
the office within the next few days. He wanted her more than he wanted
any one else, but he told himself this was because he was selfish and
she was a capable machine. No, that was not it, he decided a moment
later as he looked in at the activities of the fish market with
passing interest.

Mary no longer seemed a mere machine but a remarkable woman, a womanly
woman, too. He liked the old house with its atrocious horsehair sofa
and chair tidies and the Rogers group in the front bay window. The
fire had been so elemental and soothing, so were the pots of flowers,
the shabby piano, and even more shabby books. One could rest there,
distributing whole flocks of newspapers where he would. The death awe
had not been permitted to take a paramount place. How lucky Luke was,
to have such a sister.

Mary was about Beatrice's age. At thirteen she had begun to earn her
own living. At thirteen Beatrice had had a pony cart, a governess, a
multitude of frocks, her midwinter trip to New York, where she saw all
the musical comedies and gorged on chocolates and pastry.

The upshot of it was that Steve decided to call on Mary the
following afternoon; it was only courtesy he told himself by way of
an excuse. He wanted to talk to her--not of business but of life,
of the shabby old house. Outwardly he wanted to ask if he might help
her and what her plans were, but in reality he wanted her to help
him. He no longer felt displeased that Beatrice had not come with
him; he felt positive Mary would understand, that she would dismiss
Trudy's slight with proper scorn. Beatrice would have insisted upon
arriving in state. By this time the bridge club with its Russian
sweetmeats, its six-hundred-dollar china plates, the new afternoon
frock, and the spoofing of Trudy must be well under way!

The fish market was not doing a land-office business. Stray purchasers
approached and halted before the cashier's cage. Steve began watching
them. Suddenly he became aware of the gorgeous young woman presiding
behind the wire cage, reluctantly pushing out change and accepting
slips, completely preoccupied in her own thoughts, while a copy of the
_High Blood Pressure Weekly_ lay at one side. What attracted Steve was
the horrible simil