She was so inexpressibly glad for the peace day. Somehow, it seemed
easier and less blackly futile to give him up.
Of Wheeler for three running weeks she had not a glimpse, and then, one
day, he sent up a hamper, not a box, but an actual trunk of roses, and
she, in turn, sent them up the back way to Kitty's flat, not wanting
even their fragrance released.
With Kitty there were little hurried confabs each day outside the
apartment door in the hallway before the elevator shaft. A veil of awe
seemed to wrap the Drew woman.
"I can't get it out of my head, Hester. It's like a fairy story, and, in
another way, it's a scream--Wheeler standing for this."
"Sh-h, Kitty! His ears are so sensitive."
"Quit shushing me every time I open my mouth. Poor kid! Let me have a
look at him. He wouldn't know."
"No! No!"
"God! if it wasn't so sad it would be a scream--Wheeler footing the
bills!"
"Oh--you! Oh--oh--you!"
"All right, all right! Don't take the measles over it. I'm going.
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