"Oh, WE're all well," she said, briskly; and then, as if something in
his tone had caught her as significant, "Well, HOW do I look, Bibbs?"

"You look--" He paused again, taking in the full length of her--her
trim brown shoes, her scant, tapering, rough skirt, and her coat of
brown and green, her long green tippet and her mad little rough hat
in the mad mode--all suited to the October day.

"How do I look?" she insisted.

"You look," he answered, as his examination ended upon an incrusted
watch of platinum and enamel at her wrist, "you look--expensive!"
That was a substitute for what he intended to say, for her constraint
and preoccupation, manifested particularly in her keeping her direct
glance away from him, did not seem to grant the privilege of impulsive
intimacies.

"I expect I am!" she laughed, and sidelong caught the direction of
his glance. "Of course I oughtn't to wear it in the daytime--it's an
evening thing, for the theater--but my day wrist-watch is out of gear.
Bobby Lamhorn broke it yesterday; he's a regular rowdy sometimes.
Do you want Claus to help you in?"

"Oh no," said Bibbs. "I'm alive." And after a fit of panting
subsequent to his climbing into the car unaided, he added, "Of course,
I have to TELL people!"

"We only got your telegram this morning," she said, as they began to
move rapidly through the "wholesale district" neighboring the station.
"Mother said she'd hardly expected you this month."