“So do I,” said Lulu, and went, still laughing.

Cornish saw her red dress vanish from his door, flash by his window, her head averted.  And there settled upon him a depression out of all proportion to the slow depression of his days.  This was more—­it assailed him, absorbed him.

He stood staring out the window.  Some one passed with a greeting of which he was conscious too late to return.  He wandered back down the store and his pianos looked back at him like strangers.  Down there was the green curtain which screened his home life.  He suddenly hated that green curtain.  He hated this whole place.  For the first time it occurred to him that he hated Warbleton.

He came back to his table, and sat down before his lawbook.  But he sat, chin on chest, regarding it.  No ... no escape that way....

A step at the door and he sprang up.  It was Lulu, coming toward him, her face unsmiling but somehow quite lighted.  In her hand was a letter.

“See,” she said.  “At the office was this....”

She thrust in his hand the single sheet.  He read: 

" ...  Just wanted you to know you’re actually rid of me.  I’ve heard from her, in Brazil.  She ran out of money and thought of me, and her lawyer wrote to me....  I’ve never been any good—­Dwight would tell you that if his pride would let him tell the truth once in a while.  But there ain’t anything in my life makes me feel as bad as this....  I s’pose you couldn’t understand and I don’t myself....  Only the sixteen years keeping still made me think she was gone sure ... but you were so downright good, that’s what was the worst ... do you see what I want to say ...”

Cornish read it all and looked at Lulu.  She was grave and in her eyes there was a look of dignity such as he had never seen them wear.  Incredible dignity.

“He didn’t lie to get rid of me—­and she was alive, just as he thought she might be,” she said.

“I’m glad,” said Cornish.

“Yes,” said Lulu.  “He isn’t quite so bad as Dwight tried to make him out.”

It was not of this that Cornish had been thinking.

“Now you’re free,” he said.

“Oh, that ...” said Lulu.

She replaced her letter in its envelope.

“Now I’m really going,” she said.  “Good-bye for sure this time....”

Her words trailed away.  Cornish had laid his hand on her arm.

“Don’t say good-bye,” he said.

“It’s late,” she said, “I—­”

“Don’t you go,” said Cornish.

She looked at him mutely.

“Do you think you could possibly stay here with me?”

“Oh!” said Lulu, like no word.

He went on, not looking at her.  “I haven’t got anything.  I guess maybe you’ve heard something about a little something I’m supposed to inherit.  Well, it’s only five hundred dollars.”

His look searched her face, but she hardly heard what he was saying.