He need not have feared. Harmony had taken him
entirely at his word. “I am not a beast.
I’ll let you alone,” he had said.
She had had a bad night, as nights go. She had
gone through the painful introspection which, in a
thoroughly good girl, always follows such an outburst
as Peter’s. Had she said or done anything
to make him think—Surely she had not!
Had she been wrong about Peter after all? Surely
not again.
While the Portier’s wife, waked, as may happen,
by an unaccustomed silence, was standing guard in
the hall below, iron candlestick in hand, Harmony,
having read the Litany through in the not particularly
religious hope of getting to sleep, was dreaming placidly.
It was Peter who tossed and turned almost all night.
Truly there had been little sleep that night in the
old hunting-lodge of Maria Theresa.
Peter, still not quite at ease, that evening kept
out of the kitchen while supper was preparing.
Anna, radical theories forgotten and wearing a knitted
shawl against drafts, was making a salad, and Harmony,
all anxiety and flushed with heat, was broiling a
steak.
Steak was an extravagance, to be cooked with clear
hot coals and prayer.
“Peter,” she called, “you may set
the table. And try to lay the cloth straight.”
Peter, exiled in the salon, came joyously. Obviously
the wretched business of yesterday was forgiven.
He came to the door, pipe in mouth.
“Suppose I refuse?” he questioned.
“You—you haven’t been very
friendly with me to-day, Harry.”
“I?”
“Don’t quarrel, you children,” cried
Anna, beating eggs vigorously. “Harmony
is always friendly, too friendly. The Portier
loves her.”
“I’m sure I said good-evening to you.”
“You usually say, ‘Good-evening, Peter.’”
“And I did not?”
“You did not.”
“Then—Good-evening, Peter.”
“Thank you.”
His steady eyes met hers. In them there was a
renewal of his yesterday’s promise, abasement,
regret. Harmony met him with forgiveness and
restoration.
“Sometimes,” said Peter humbly, “when
I am in very great favor, you say, ‘Good-evening,
Peter, dear.’”
“Good-evening, Peter, dear,” said Harmony.
The affairs of young Stewart and Marie Jedlicka were
not moving smoothly. Having rented their apartment
to the Boyers, and through Marie’s frugality
and the extra month’s wages at Christmas, which
was Marie’s annual perquisite, being temporarily
in funds the sky seemed clear enough, and Walter Stewart
started on his holiday with a comfortable sense of
financial security.
