He's
gaining strength rapidly; he sleeps a great deal; he's asleep now,
ma'am. But, won't you step into the library? There's a fire in the
grate, and I'll let Mr. French know you are here."
But Mr. French, who had overheard part of the colloquy, came forward
from an adjoining room, in smoking jacket and slippers.
"How do you do?" he asked, extending his hand. "It was mighty good of
you to come to see me."
"And I'm awfully glad to find you better," she returned, giving him
her slender, gloved hand with impulsive warmth. "I might have
telephoned, but I wanted to see for myself. I felt a part of the blame
to be mine, for it is partly for me, you know, that you have been
overworking."
"It was all in the game," he said, "and we have won. But sit down and
stay awhile. I know you'll pardon my smoking jacket. We are partners,
you know, and I claim an invalid's privilege as well."
The lady's fine eyes beamed, and her fair cheek flushed with pleasure.
Had he only realised it, he might have claimed of her any privilege a
woman can properly allow, even that of conducting her to the altar.
But to him she was only, thus far, as she had been for a long time, a
very good friend of his own and of Phil's; a former partner's widow,
who had retained her husband's interest in the business; a wholesome,
handsome woman, who was always excellent company and at whose table he
had often eaten, both before and since her husband's death. Nor,
despite Kirby's notions, was he entirely ignorant of the lady's
partiality for himself.
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