He could see a
tear running down her cheek. She was staring straight ahead at the
wall of the room and by the dim light that came through a window he
could see the drawn cords of her little neck and the knot of mouse
coloured hair on her head.
McGregor closed his eyes quickly. He felt like one who has been
aroused out of sleep by a dash of cold water across his breast. It
came over him with a rush that Edith Carson had been expecting
something from him--something he was not prepared to give.
She got up after a time and crept quietly away into the shop and with
a great clatter and bustle he arose also and began calling loudly. He
demanded the time and complained about a missed appointment. Turning
up the gas, Edith walked with him to the door. On her face sat the old
placid smile. McGregor hurried away into the darkness and spent the
rest of the night walking in the streets.
The next day he went to Margaret Ormsby at the settlement house. With
her he used no art. Driving straight to the point he told her of the
undertaker's daughter sitting beside him on the eminence above Coal
Creek, of the barber and his talk of women on the park bench and how
that had led him to that other woman kneeling on the floor in the
little frame house, his fists in her hair and of Edith Carson whose
companionship had saved him from all of these.
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