The maddening, but yet--though she hadn't much room for any other
emotion--touching thing about the look of him, was the way his face,
above the dismal wreck, beamed good-humored innocent affection at her.
It was a big featured, strong, rosy face, and the unmistakable
intellectual power of it, which became apparent the moment he got his
faculties into action, had a trick of hiding, at other times, behind a
mere robust simplicity.

"Good gracious!" he said. "I didn't know you were going to have a
party."

It seemed though, he didn't want to make an issue of that. He hedged. "I
know you said something about a birthday cake, but I thought it would
just be the family. So instead of dressing, I thought I'd walk down from
home. It takes about the same time. And then it came on to rain, so I
took a street-car--and got put off."

It appeared from the way she echoed his last two words that she wanted
an explanation. He was painting with a large brush and a few details got
obliterated.

"Got into a row with the conductor, who wanted to collect two fares for
one ride, so I walked over to the elevated--and back, and here I am."

"Yes, here you are," said Frederica.

She didn't mean anything by that. Already she was making up her mind
what she would do with him. His own suggestion was that he should decamp
furtively by the back stairs, the sound of new arrivals to the dinner
party warning him that the other way of escape was barred. Waiters could