Kitty made straight for Felix, who was leaning over the low counter, absorbed in the sale of some old silver.  His disappointment over Kling’s rebuff regarding Masie’s future had been greatly lightened, relieved by his talk with Father Cruse an hour before, and he had again thrown himself into his work with a determination to make the last days of the year a success for his employer,—­all the more necessary when he remembered his plans for the child.  The customer, an important one, was trying to make up her mind as to the choice between two pieces, and Felix was evidently intent on not hurrying her.

He had seen Kitty when she opened the door and approached the counter, had noticed her excitement when she stopped in front of him, and knew that something out of the ordinary had sent her to him at this, the busiest part of his own and her day.  But his only sign of recognition was the lift of an eyelid and a slight movement of his hand, the palm turned toward her, a gesture which told as plainly as could be that, while he was glad to see her—­something she was never in doubt of—­the present moment was ill adapted to protracted conversation.

Kitty, however, was not built on diplomatic lines.  What she wanted she wanted at once.  When she had something vital to accomplish she went straight at it, and certainly nothing more vital than her present mission had come her way for weeks.

That the news she carried had something to do with O’Day’s happiness, she was convinced, or Father Cruse would not have been so insistent.  That the woman herself was, in some way, connected with his misfortunes, she also suspected—­and had done so, in reality, ever since the night on which she gave him the sleeve-links.  She had not said so to John; she had not hinted as much to Father Cruse; but she had never dismissed the possibility from her mind.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said, ignoring Felix and going straight to the cause of the embargo, “but couldn’t ye let me have Mr. O’Day for a few minutes?  I’ve somethin’ very partic’lar to say to him.”

“Why, Mistress Kitty—­” began Felix, smiling at her audacity, the customer also regarding her with amused curiosity.

“Yes, Mr. O’Day, I wouldn’t butt in if I could help it.  Excuse me, ma’am, but there’s Otto just got loose, and—­Otto, come over here and take care of this lady who is goin’ to let me have Mr. O’Day for half an hour.  Thank ye, ma’am, you don’t know me, but I’m Kitty Cleary, the expressman’s wife, from across the street, and I’m always mixin’ in where I don’t belong and I know ye’ll forgive me.  Otto’ll charge ye twice the price Mr. O’Day would, but he can’t help it because he’s Dutch.  Oh, Otto, I know ye!”

Felix laughed outright.  “Thank you, Mr. Kling,” he said, yielding his place to his employer, “and if you will excuse me, madam,” and he bowed to his customer, “I will see what it is all about—­and now, Mistress Kitty, what can I do for you?”