She
had had a cup of tea, and Harmony, sitting on a stool, had mended
the rent so that it could hardly be seen. Mrs. Boyer, softened by
the tea and by the proximity of Harmony's lovely head bent over
her task, grew slightly more expansive.
"I ought to tell you something, Miss Wells," she said. "You
remember my other visit?"
"Perfectly." Harmony bent still lower.
"I did you an injustice at that time. I've been sorry ever since.
I thought that there was no Dr. Gates. I'm sorry, but I'm not
going to deny it. People do things in this wicked city that they
wouldn't do at home. I confess I misjudged Peter Byrne. You can
give him my apologies, since he won't see me."
"But he isn't here or of course he'd see you."
"Then," demanded Mrs. Boyer grimly, "if Peter Byrne is not here,
who has been smoking cigarettes in this room? There is one still
burning in that stove!"
Harmony's hand was forced. She was white as she cut the
brown-silk thread and rose to her feet.
"I think," she said, "that I'd better go back a few weeks, Mrs.
Boyer, and tell you a story, if you have time to listen."
"If it is disagreeable--"
"Not at all. It is about Peter Byrne and myself, and--some
others. It is really about Peter. Mrs. Boyer, will you come very
quietly across the hall?"
Mrs. Boyer, expecting Heaven knows what, rose with celerity.
Harmony led the way to Jimmy's door and opened it. He was still
asleep, a wasted small figure on the narrow bed.
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