For a time the noisy elevators had stopped and all was quiet at the big hotel. Helen’s room was near the flat roof. She liked the sense of height and spaciousness, and when she came in she pulled a chair to the window. The night was cold but the keen air was bracing, and now the worst strain was over her brain and body were tired. She wanted to rest and indulge her poignant satisfaction.
Bob was going to get better, although the doctor thought his recovery might be long. Helen had returned from the private hospital and rather languidly pictured the quiet room, the watchful nurse, and Bob on the narrow bed, his skin almost as white as the linen. He could not move his body, but at length he was conscious and when Helen stole into the room he turned his head and smiled.
Helen’s pity carried
