Claude took her hands and they stood looking searchingly at each
other in the swimming golden light that made everything
transparent. He never knew exactly how he found his hat and made
his way out of the house. He was only sure that Gladys did not
accompany him to the door. He glanced back once, and saw her head
against the bright window.
She stood there, exactly where he left her, and watched the
evening come on, not moving, scarcely breathing. She was thinking
how often, when she came downstairs, she would see him standing
here by the window, or moving about in the dusky room, looking at
last as he ought to look,--like his convictions and the choice he
had made. She would never let this house be sold for taxes now.
She would save her salary and pay them off. She could never like
any other room so well as this. It had always been a refuge from
Frankfort; and now there would be this vivid, confident figure,
an image as distinct to her as the portrait of her grandfather
upon the wall.