Andree approached in a determined, business-like manner. One could tell at once that she had a destination in view. The quaint stiffness of her gait was accentuated by the angle from which he looked at her, as was her slenderness. He watched to see if she would turn her head or allow her eyes to vary from that intent, straight-ahead gaze which seemed to see nothing. They did not vary. She was prim. Prim was the word, he thought.... The white tam was jaunty, but it did not give her an air of jauntiness; instead of doing so it gave quite another impression—that of inexperienced youth, youth untouched by the events of life, youth that had yet to come to a knowledge that there was evil in the world. That was a great deal for a tam-o’-shanter to tell, but somehow it managed to tell it. Ken leaned farther out to watch her as she came directly underneath, wondering if she would glance up at the windows. She did glance upward, suddenly, as if something had fallen at her feet and startled her. She saw Ken, but she neither smiled nor waved, and dropped her eyes again as quickly as she had raised them. But there was about her then an air of relief, as if she had sighed audibly.... He was there waiting for her eagerly; she had seen it, and her apprehensions, if she had any, were quieted. Ken listened for her step upon the stairs, but heard no sound until the door-bell rang with a sort of tentative, hesitating ring. It seemed as if she could touch nothing without imparting some character, something of her mood of the moment.... He opened the door and she raised her eyes to his and looked into his face a moment, her face perfectly immobile. She stood very straight and still, her arms stiffly at her sides. “My dear,” he said, and held out his arms to her. She smiled shyly, diffidently, as she allowed him to take her in his arms and kiss her. She was not responsive, but seemed rather speculative.... As if she were allowing this thing to happen to see if it were really going to happen.... And then she returned his kiss gravely, as much as to say: “Yes, this can really happen. It is so. I am much relieved.” “You are _triste_,” he said, anxiously. “_Mais non.... Mais non...._” “Then smile.” “When I have climb’ many stairs I cannot smile.... But I am glad.... Who is here?” “Nobody.” “Not Arlette?” “Oh yes, of course. But Bert won’t be home to dinner.” “It is well.... _Non, non_, you mus’ not take my _sac_. It is ver’ valuable—yes. I mus’ watch it ver’ careful. It has my tickets of the bread.” “I’ll hang it right here, and your jacket, or whatever you call it.... What have you been doing?” “I have work _beaucoup_. Oh, it is ver’ tiresome to work! It is much better jus’ to play all the days.... And you? Have you theenk of me?” “Yes.” “I do not believe—no, no, not once have you theenk of me. You are ver’ wicked—_très-méchante_. I shall to weep.” “I think of you when I wake up, all the morning, at noon, all the afternoon—”