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Rodney, who had lived alone with her there,
had simply stayed on, since her death, waiting for an offer for it that
suited him. Frederica had known that, of course--had worried about him,
as she said, and in her imagination, had colored his loneliness to the
same dismal hue her own would have taken on in similar circumstances.
All the same, his curt announcement that the long-looked-for change had
come, brought up quick unwelcomed tears. She squeezed them away with her
palms.
"You'll come to us then, won't you?" she asked, but quite without
conviction. She knew what he'd say.
"Heavens, no! Oh, I'll go to a hotel for a while--maybe look up a
little down-town apartment, with a Jap. It doesn't matter much about
that. It's a load off, all right."
"Is that," she asked, "why you've been looking so sort of--gay, all the
evening--as if you were licking the last of the canary's feathers off
your whiskers?"
"Perhaps so," he said. "It's been a pretty good day, take it all round."
She got up from the couch, shook herself down into her clothes a little,
and came over to him.


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