and then dismissed the
attendant. Mrs. Sewall appeared only slightly interested. In fact, I
think we both were observing each other more closely than the cretonnes.
They acted simply as a screen, through the cracks of which we might
surreptitiously gaze.

I noted all the familiar points--the superb string of pearls about Mrs.
Sewall's neck; the wealth of diamonds on her slender fingers when she
drew off her glove; the band of black on the lower edge of the veil,
setting off her small features in a heavy frame. I noted, too, the
increased pallor beneath the veil. There was a sort of emaciated
appearance just behind the ears, which neither carefully-set earring nor
cleverly arranged coiffure could conceal. The veins on Mrs. Sewall's
hands, moreover, were prominent and blue.

But for a tangle in the chain of Mrs. Sewall's glasses she would have
left me with no sign of friendliness. It was when I passed her a small
sample in a book, and she attempted to put on her glasses, that I
observed the fine platinum cord was in a knot. I offered my services. I
didn't suppose she would accept them. I was surprised at her cool, "Yes,
if you will."

Mrs. Sewall was sitting down. I had to kneel to my task. The chain
proved to be in a complicated snarl. My fingers trembled. I was very
clumsy. I was afraid Mrs. Sewall would become exasperated. "Just a
moment," I said, and looked up. Our eyes met. I was so close I could
see the tiny network of wrinkles in the face above me. I could see
the sudden tenderness in the eyes.

"It seems to be a particularly difficult snarl," I quavered, then bent
my head and worked in silence for a moment. We were so near, we could
hear each other breathe.

Suddenly in a low voice, almost a whisper, Mrs. Sewall asked, "Are you
happy here?"

"Oh, so happy," I replied.

"Are you better? Are you well?" she pursued.

I dropped my hands in her lap, looked up, and nodded. I could not trust
myself to speak. I knelt there in silence for a moment.

Finally I said, "Are _you_ happy? Are _you_ better? Are _you_ well, dear
Mrs. Sewall?"

"What does it matter? I am an old woman," she replied, in that
disparaging little way of hers.

Our old intimacy shone clear and bright in that stolen moment. We were
like two lovers forbidden to each other, whispering there together, when
the lights suddenly go out, and they are enfolded in the protecting
dark. "You are not too old to have created great happiness!" I exclaime