On the irritability of her mood Harmony's music had a late but
certain effect. She made a toilet, a trifle less casual than
usual, seeing that she put on her stays, and rather sheepishly
picked up the bundle from the corner. She hunted about for a
thimble, being certain she had brought one from home a year
before, but failed to find it. And finally, bundle under her arm
and smiling, she knocked at Harmony's door.
"Would you mind letting me sit with you?" she asked. "I'll not
stir. I want to sew, and my room is such a mess!"
Harmony threw the door wide. "You will make me very happy, if
only my practicing does not disturb you."
Dr. Gates came in and closed the door.
"I'll probably be the disturbing element," she said. "I'm a noisy
sewer."
Harmony's immaculate room and radiant person put her in good
humor immediately. She borrowed a thimble--not because she cared
whether she had one or not, but because she knew a thimble was a
part of the game--and settled herself in a corner, her ragged
pieces in her lap. For an hour she plodded along and Harmony
played. Then the girl put down her bow and turned to the corner.
The little doctor was jerking at a knot in her thread.
"It's in the most damnable knot!" she said, and Harmony was
suddenly aware that she was crying, and heartily ashamed of it.
"Please don't pay any attention to me," she implored. "I hate to
sew. That's the trouble. Or perhaps it's not all the trouble.
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