And this time there was no Peter Byrne to accost her cheerily in
the twilight and win her by sheer friendliness. She was alone.
Her funds were lower, much lower. And something else had
gone--her faith. Mrs. Boyer had seen to that. In the autumn
Harmony had faced the city clear-eyed and unafraid; now she
feared it, met it with averted eyes, alas! understood it.
It was not the Harmony who had bade a brave farewell to Scatchy
and the Big Soprano in the station who fled to her refuge on the
upper floor of the house in the Wollbadgasse. This was a hunted
creature, alternately flushed and pale, who locked her door
behind her before she took off her hat, and who, having taken off
her hat and surveyed her hiding-place with tragic eyes, fell
suddenly to trembling, alone there in the gaslight.
She had had no plans beyond flight. She had meant, once alone, to
think the thing out. But the room was cold, she had had nothing
to eat, and the single slovenly maid was a Hungarian and spoke no
German. The dressmaker had gone to the Ronacher. Harmony did not
know where to find a restaurant, was afraid to trust herself to
the streets alone. She went to bed supperless, with a tiny
picture of Peter and Jimmy and the wooden sentry under her cheek.
The pigeons, cooing on the window-sill, wakened her early. She
was confused at first, got up to see if Jimmy had thrown off his
blankets, and wakened to full consciousness with the sickening
realization that Jimmy was not there.
Pages:
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235