“Then you shall have them—­or an omelet garnished with bacon.  And the corner grocery has some lettuce and radishes.  I believe I can even achieve a salad.”

Brown led the way through the ill-lighted streets, not talking as he might have done in another quarter of the city, but hurrying them past places he could not bear to have them see, and making one detour to avoid taking them through the poorest part of the neighbourhood.  It was by no means a dangerous neighbourhood, but somehow he felt with these two rare women on his hands, as if he must guard them even from the ordinary sights to be had in the districts of the working class.  And as he walked by their side it came upon him, as it had never done with such force before, that he could never seriously ask any woman from his own world to come and face such a life as the one he had chosen for the active years of his own.

Yet—­he had also a curious feeling that he must not let that thought spoil for him the wonder of this visit.  The hour was his, let him make the most of it.  He had not so many happy hours that he could afford to lose one because it could be only one.  He would not lose it.

XVI

BROWN’S NEW WORLD

So the house was reached—­it was a dark and stern-looking little abode at this hour, with its windows unlighted, though usually the cheeriest on the square.  Brown threw open the door and Bim sprang to meet him—­turning aside, however, at sight of the strangers.  Only a few embers glowed on the hearth, and the room was in darkness.

Brown closed the door behind them all.  “Stand still, please,” he said, “while I light up.”

He threw some kindlings from a basket upon the fire, and they leaped into flame before he could light the lamp on his table.  The room became a pleasant place at once, as any room must in fire- and lamp-light, so that it contain such few essentials of living as did Brown’s—­the red-cushioned chair by the hearth, the books and magazines upon the table, the two fine portraits on the wall.

“Now, please make yourselves comfortable,” Brown urged, indicating the austere little bedroom his friends remembered.  “And if you’ll do that I’ll go at the joyous task of getting you some supper.”

“You must let us help you,” Mrs. Brainard offered.

“Never!  What could you do, either of you, in a bachelor’s kitchen?”

“But we want to see the bachelor at work there.”

“Your presence might upset me,” he called back, laughing, as he hurried away.

Two minutes later, after an inspection of his larder, he was rushing up the street to the corner grocery, having escaped by way of the back door.  If any of his friends of this quarter had happened to meet him under one of the scanty street lamps, they might have noted that the dark face, in these days usually so sober, to-night was alight with eagerness.  Donald Brown’s eyes were glowing, there was a touch of clear, excited colour on his cheek.  His lips were all but smiling as he strode along.  One hand was already in his pocket, feeling critically of the probable contents of the purse he longed to empty, to make a little feast for his so-welcome guests.