CHAPTER VI.
Glenn Andrewswalked down the street, which had been written on the sheet of paper in his pocket.
“No. 23.” He looked up and saw that No. 23 was a hospital. There must be some mistake. No, that was plainly what it said.
He stood looking at the door in an anxious manner.
“Could she be here—ill?”
He had drawn a charming picture of her, a radiant specimen of perfect health. His pulse quickened. The curtains parted and a girl appeared at the window. Her eyes were dim, her face ghastly—the look on it was neither pain nor age—it was a look of hopelessness. The rich,gleaming hair made a glory about her head, as the light caught its golden sheen. That was like her hair. A moment she stood there, looking down the street, then dropped the curtain. He saw her turn and go sorrowfully upstairs.
The light from the hall chandelier was very brilliant—his face cleared. A better look satisfied him it was not Esther Powel.
He pondered a minute, then started down the street again. She had evidently given him the wrong number.
At the corner he stopped a policeman. “I am looking for a boarding house on this street—No. 23, West.”
“Maybe it’s the next street; that same number is a boarding house. All in this block are private houses except the hospital.”
Glenn thanked him and went on quickly. She’d made a mistake in the street maybe. It would soon be too late to call. He did not need to inquire again, for as he turned the corner he could see Esther Powel on the steps, lookingout upon the square ablaze with light and confusion.
“It is Mr. Glenn.” With the words she sprang three steps at a time to the pavement. “How glad I am!”
And then she stopped, remembered, and held out her hands.
“How you frightened me. You had me going to the hospital to find you. That’s the same number on the next street.”
“Well, how do you expect me to get things right when I feel like I’m flying every way and can’t get myself together to light?”
Glenn always found her startling figures amusing. “You will feel that for awhile.” He hadn’t taken his eyes away from her as she led the way into the parlor. “You are stunned by the novelties. You will also be quickened by them.”
Esther, full-breasted, slender-limbed, rounded. The joy of life was upon her—the loveliness of full bloom.
“It’s good to see you again,” he said, “but why didn’t you let me help you get settled?”
“It took enough of your time to write that discouraging letter.”
“You know I didn’t mean it for that. I would do most anything to further your art. But it is best to do only that for what we are intended. Nobody could know that as well as yourself. I believed your decision would be right, whatever it was,” he told her. “Are you pleased with your advancement so far?”
“Not pleased—buoyed. I hope to do something some day.” As she raised her eyes to him they expressed something of the wild, delicate, throbbing pride. “I did not come to fail.”
“I believe that, from the good reports I have heard through our old friend, your professor.”
“He was very nice to me; it was through him that I knew about the Frenchman who will instruct me here.”
“So you’ve arranged all that, too.”
“Oh, yes; I begin my lessons next Monday.”
“Smart girl. How are you situated here; are you comfortable?”
“Comfortable!” she laughed. “I have to come downstairs to draw a good breath. They stow me away in a sort of a garret on the fourth floor. As Cousin John would say, there isn’t room to ‘cuss’ a cat without turning sideways.”
“I believe your Southern men are more given to profanity than Northerners,” he said.
“Oh, but his is so whole-souled that it is only ‘profunity.’”
“Oh, dear; don’t think that I’m opposed to it,” Glenn interrupted. “I sometimes find relief in a good, wholesome—”
Esther held up a warning forefinger.
“Then you may do mine for me. I shall need it if I stay here long enough.”
“Boarding house life is a miserable parody on home, I know. But we can stand most anything for a while if the incentive is great enough.”
“All these looking-glasses keep me tangled. I seem to be going towards myself, from myself,beside myself, but I have been fortunate a part of the time. Two young men on the train gave me addresses of nice places to board when they found that I was alone and a stranger to the city.”
Instinctively Glenn frowned. “Have you got them?”
“I saved them to show you.” Taking them from her purse, she handed him the cards.
“You don’t want them,” he said, crushing the cards in his hand.
“Did they ask permission to call?”
“One did. He wanted to come with me from the station. I didn’t care to be bothered when I was thinking of seeing you. My! how I dreaded to see you, though I believe if I hadn’t very soon I’d have started back South,” she said in her effusive way. “I was afraid the change I’d find in you would be disappointing.”
“Was it?” he asked quickly.
“Yes, because it is for the better. I didn’twant to care as I used to in the old days.” She was still childish enough to be honest.
“Why, did you find me unworthy?”
“I suppose you were worthy enough, but I have learned it is not well to let one’s affection wrap their tendrils too close about another; it hurts so when they are snapped.”
“There is no reason for them to be snapped,” he argued. “The joy of clinging should make them strong enough to wrap and unwrap, leaving its sweet effect.” As he was leaving, “Trust men for little and your instinct for a good deal,” he said. His visit had made him all the more determined. A profound passion can be displaced only by one greater. He had had no experience in guiding people, but he had a desperate faith in his own way of reasoning.