Not until then, with their parting imminent, did he summon up sufficient ease to tell her of his recent stroke of fortune. She received it pleasantly, as a teacher listens to tales of prowess on the part of a pupil. "Sales-manager!--isn't that nice, Mr. Blair? I must get my step-mother to try some of that polish of yours. She loves things to glisten. And you'll have a lot more money, won't you? Splendid! So now," she suggested, as Ellen had suggested, "you'll probably be moving somewhere else." She had her eye on him, though, for it may be remembered that Joan had a theory of her own as to why this up-and-coming young man continued to live in an attic in the slums. He shook his head. "I'll stay in the old place. Even if I hadn't lived there ever since I can remember, I think I'd stay anyway." "Why?" asked Joan, walking more slowly. "Well, there's something sort of homey about it. I've got a fireplace in my room, you see, and I like the little panes in the windows, and the big sills--they're just as good as tables--And that funny old twisty staircase. Sometimes at night when everybody in the house is asleep you can hear the steps creaking, as if people were coming up and down. I like that. And the old tree outside taps on the roof as if it were saying, 'Here I am, kid. Go on to sleep!'"--He broke off apologetically. "You'll think me a nut, Miss Darcy, talking like this! But you see everything that's ever happened to me happened in that room, and I feel as if--well, as if I weren't exactly alone in it." Joan nodded, her eyes bright with understanding. She had not expected him to share her feeling for the old house, or to be so sensitive to the influence of environment. She walked still slower. It was too bad their talk should come to an end just as it was showing signs of life. "Were you born there?" she asked craftily. "Oh, no. No, I don't know just where I was born. On the road, I reckon. You see my mother was an actress--" But despite her lagging feet they were by this time at the Darcy door, which was promptly opened by an attentive parlor maid. "I'm so sorry I can't ask you in," said Joan. "No, indeed!--I didn't expect that," answered humble Archie. Joan frowned. It may be recalled that humility was one of her dislikes. "It's just that I happen to have an engagement for the evening," she explained; for in Louisville fashion she portioned out her free nights among certain admirers who are known in the vernacular as "fireside companions"--gentlemen who for reasons of poverty, or thrift, or especial devotion, do not offer the ladies of their choice any other form of entertainment than their company. Only on Sunday afternoons are the youth of a Southern city free to call unheralded and _en masse_ on girls with any pretensions to popularity. Joan explained this custom to Archibald, remarking with an encouraging smile, "So you see if you really want to talk to a girl alone, your only chance is to engage an evening in advance."