The din of the city closed in about them: the streets, already lashed dry by the wind, spread like a maze as they rolled off the bridge; then the halting and the jerking, the dodging of streetcars, and finally her own apartment building. Mr. Lux unlocked the door and held her arm gently as they entered. The sweet, damp smell of carnations came out to meet them, and Tillie swayed a bit as she stood. "Oh!--oh!--oh!" "Easy there, little one. It'll be all right. It's pretty bleak at first, but it'll come round all right." He groped for a match and lit the gas. "There--you set a bit and take it easy." A little blue-glass vase with three fresh white carnations decorated the center of the small table. "See!" said Mr. Lux, bent on diverting. "Ain't they pretty? A gentleman friend, I guess, sent them to cheer you up--not? My! ain't they pretty, though?" "Just think--Mame doin' all that for me! Straightening up and going out and getting me them flowers before she went to work! And--and Angie not here!" "Little missy, you need to drink somethin' hot. Ain't there some coffee round, or somethin'?" "Yes," she said; "but I--I got to get used to bein' here--bein' here without Angie--oh!" "Come now--the carriage is downstairs yet, and there's a little bakeshop, with a table in the back, over on Twentieth Street. If you'll let me take you over there it'll fix you up fine, and then I'll bring you back; and by that time your friends'll be here, and it won't be so lonesome-like." She rose to her feet. "I wanna go," she said. "I don't wanna stay here." "That's the way to talk!" he said, smiling and showing a flash of strong, even teeth. "We'll fix you up all right!" She looked up at him and half smiled. "You're so nice to me and all," she said. He felt of her coat-sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. "Ain't you got somethin' warmer? It's gettin' cold, and you'll need it." "Yes; but not--not mournin'." "It's the crape of the heart that counts," he repeated. "All right," she said, like a child. "I'll wear my heavier one." And she walked half fearfully into the little room adjoining. When she returned her face was freshly powdered and the pink rims about her eyes fainter. Her tan jacket was buttoned snugly about her. She stood for a moment under the bracket of light and smiled gratefully at him. "I'm ready." Mr. Lux stepped toward her and hooked his arm, like a cotillion leader asking a debutante into the dinner-hall; then stopped, took another step, and paused again. A quick wave of red swept over his face. "Why!" he began; "why! Well!" She looked down at her skirt with a woman's quick consciousness of self. "I told you," she said, with her words falling one over the other; "I told you it wasn't mournin'! I--I--" She followed his gaze to her coat-lapel and to the magenta bow. A hot pink flowed under her skin.