Ridgway had promised Aline that he would see her soon, and when he found himself in New York he called at the big house on Fifth Avenue, which had for so long been identified as the home of Simon Harley.It bore his impress stamped on it.Its austerity suggested the Puritan rather than the classic conception of simplicity.The immense rooms were as chill as dungeons, and the forlorn little figure in black, lost in the loneliness of their bleakness, wandered to and fro among her retinue of servants like a butterfly beating its wings against a pane of glass.
With both hands extended she ran forward to meet her guest."I'm so glad, so glad, so glad to see you."The joy-note in her voice was irrepressible.She had been alone for weeks with the conventional gloom that made an obsession of the shadow of death which enveloped the house.All voices and footsteps had been subdued to harmonize with the grief of the mistress of this mausoleum.Now she heard the sharp tread of this man unafraid, and saw the alert vitality of his confident bearing.It was like a breath of the hills to a parched traveler.
"I told you I would come."
"Yes.I've been looking for you every day.I've checked each one off on my calendar.It's been three weeks and five days since I saw you.""I thought it was a year," he laughed, and the sound of his uncurbed voice rang strangely in this room given to murmurs.
"Tell me about everything.How is Virginia, and Mrs.Mott, and Mr.Yesler? And is he really engaged to that sweet little school-teacher? And how does Mr.Hobart like being senator?""Not more than a dozen questions permitted at a time.Begin again, please.""First, then, when did you reach the city?"He consulted his watch."Just two hours and twenty-seven minutes ago.""And how long are you going to stay?" "That depends.""On what?"
"For one thing, on whether you treat me well," he smiled.
"Oh, I'll treat you well.I never was so glad to see a real live somebody in my life.It's been pretty bad here." She gave a dreary little smile as she glanced around at the funereal air of the place."Do you know, I don't think we think of death in the right way? Or, maybe, I'm a heathen and haven't the proper feelings."She had sat down on one of the stiff divans, and Ridgway found a place beside her.
"Suppose you tell me about it," he suggested.
"I know I must be wrong, and you'll be shocked when you hear." "Very likely.""I can't help feeling that the living have rights, too," she began dubiously."If they would let me alone I could be sorry in my own way, but I don't see why I have to make a parade of grief.It seems to--to cheapen one's feelings, you know."He nodded."Just as if you had to measure your friendship for the dead with a yardstick of Mother Grundy.It's a hideous imposition laid on us by custom, one of Ibsen's ghosts.""It's so good to hear you say that.And do you think I may begin to be happy again?""I think it would be allowable to start with one smile a day, say, and gradually increase the dose," he jested."In the course of a week, if it seems to agree with you, try a laugh."She made the experiment without waiting the week, amused at his whimsical way of putting it.Nevertheless, the sound of her own laughter gave her a little shock.
"You came on business, I suppose?" she said presently.
"Yes.I came to raise a million dollars for some improvements I want to make.""Let me lend it to you," she proposed eagerly.
"That would be a good one.I'm going to use it to fight theConsolidated.Since you are now its chief stockholder you would be letting me have money with which to fight you.""I shouldn't care about that.I hope you beat me.""You're my enemy now.That's not the way to talk." His eyes twinkled merrily.
