This happens to be his birthday." It was Tom who averted his eyes, not Crailey.
"Then you'd best hurry," he said, hesitatingly; "I mustn't keep you," and went downstairs to his office with flushed cheeks, a hanging head, and an expression which would have led a stranger to believe that he had just been caught in a lie.
He went to the Main Street window, and seated himself upon the ledge, the only one in the room not too dusty for occupation; for here, at this hour, Tom had taken his place every morning since Elizabeth Carewe had come from the convent.

The window was a coign of vantage, commanding the corner of Carewe and Main streets.

Some distance west of the corner, the Catholic church cast its long shadow across Main Street, and, in order to enter the church, a person who lived upon Carewe Street must pass the corner, or else make a half-mile detour and approach from the other direction--which the person never did.

Tom had thought it out the first night that the image of Miss Betty had kept him awake--and that was the first night Miss Carewe spent in Rouen--the St.Mary's girl would be sure to go to mass every day, which was why the window-ledge was dusted the next morning.
The glass doors of the little corner drug-store caught the early sun of the hot May morning and became like sheets of polished brass; a farmer's wagon rattled down the dusty street; a group of Irish waitresses from the hotel made the boardwalk rattle under their hurried steps as they went toward the church, talking busily to one another; and a blinking youth in his shirt-sleeves, who wore the air of one newly, but not gladly, risen, began to struggle mournfully with the shutters of Madrillon's bank.

A moment later, Tom heard Crailey come down the stairs, sure of foot and humming lightly to himself.