Noel and I went about through October evenings, and were as happy as we
had ever been—happier, for we grew more and more at ease with each
other, and closer to each other in understanding. He said that we were
getting like the two ancient philosophers who sat, contentedly, and
listened to each other think.
* * * * *
One day, I was getting ready to leave the office, and thinking that I
would have time to go to gymnasium for an hour before I went home to
dress for dinner with Noel, when my little assistant-secretary came in
and said that a lady wanted to see me.
“Who is it, Doris?”
“She wouldn’t give her name. She said it was personal. I thought you
might know her. She has a black patch covering the whole left side of
her face.”
“Oh,” I said, “Send her in Doris. . . . And you may go home. I shan’t
need you again tonight.”
* * * * *
There was an instant in which I thought, “I should have refused to see
her—she wasn’t ever real to me, while I did not see her.” But I knew
that I could not have sent her away, really. I could not have done that,
to Noel.