Past experience
had taught him what this portended.
Two days later, Theodora came to luncheon with unruffled brow. Across the
table, her husband looked at her inquiringly.
"Under way, Teddy?"
"Yes, at last."
"I'm glad. I do hope nothing will interrupt you."
"Something will; it always does. Fortunately it is Lent and not much is
stirring. Anyway, I mean to have my mornings free, whatever comes."
"I'll mount guard on the threshold, if you want," he responded.
Only a week afterward, Theodora was in her writing-room, hard at work.
Her desk, surmounted by a shabby photograph of her husband in his
boyhood, was orderly and deserted; but the broad couch across the western
window was strewn with sheets of manuscript which overflowed to the
floor, while in the midst of them Theodora sat enthroned, a book on her
knee and her ink insecurely poised on one of the cushions beside her.
Across the lawn she could see The Savins among the tall, bare trees, and
she paused now and then to watch the yellow sunshine as it sifted down
through the branches. All at once she stopped, with a frown.
"But I must see her," Allyn was saying sharply.
"She is busy."
"Never mind; she will see me."
There was a word or two more; then a silence, and Theodora returned to
her interrupted sentence. The next minute, she started abruptly, as she
heard a boyish fist descend on the panels of her door.
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