The journalist's silence was enforced by the topics; but what
expression and manner the light allowed them to see was friendly and
receptive, as though he listened to brilliant suggestions. He had a nice
courtesy, and Miss Hinsdale felt continually that she was cleverer than
usual this evening, and no one took his silence to be churlish, though
they all innocently wondered why he did not talk more; however, it was
probable that a man who had been so interestingly and terribly shot would
be rather silent for a time afterward.
That night, when Harkless had gone to bed Meredith sat late by his own
window calling himself names. He became aware of a rhomboidal patch of
yellow light on a wall of foliage without, and saw that it came from his
friend's window. After dubious consideration, he knocked softly on the
door.
"Come."
He went in. Harkless was in bed, and laughed faintly as Meredith entered.
"I--I'm fearing you'll have to let me settle your gas bill, Tom. I'm not
like I used to be, quite. I find--since--since that business, I can't
sleep without a light. I rather get the--the horrors in the dark."
Incoherently, Meredith made a compassionate exclamation and turned to go,
and, as he left the room, his eye fell upon the mantel-piece. The position
of the photographs had been altered, and the picture of the girl who
looked straight out at you was gone.
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