He stood a moment at the window looking into the street absently.
He became conscious that some one was smiling at him on the crossing below.

Then automatically he heard himself say, "Oh, Molly, can you run up a minute ?" And a moment later she was in the room.

She was a bewitching little body in her wide skirts and her pancake of a hat with a feather in it as she sat there looking at her toes that morning, with her bright eyes flashing up into his like rockets.

But there were lines under the eyes, and the rims of the eyelids were almost red--as red as pretty eyelids ever may be.

Barclay went right to the midst of the matter at once.