“You’re having a disturbance in your stomach too often.  Get that cab, will you, and tell them to hurry.”

Two hours later he was back.  No doubt he had done foolishly, bought unwisely; but there had been no time for indecision, and the woman who waited on him had been a great help.  As he was shown warm dresses and thick coats for the mother and little girls, suits and shoes and stockings for the boys, bedclothing, towels, soap, ribbons, and neckties, he had smiled at the absurdity of his opinion being asked concerning things of which he was as ignorant as a blind baby; but with determination he kept on until the woman told him he had gotten enough.  With the toys he was more confident; and, remembering Claudia’s restrictions, he had exercised what he believed was excellent judgment and only bought what was probably appropriate.

When the bed in the end room had been piled with his purchases, the door locked, and the key in Moses’s pocket, Laine went into the library, turned off its brilliant lights, and, leaving only the lamp burning, closed the door, sat down in his high-back chair, and lighted a cigar.  After the stir and glow of the store the silence of the room was oppressive, its emptiness chilled, and, unthinking, he put his hand down by the side of his chair and nipped his fingers as he was wont to do when calling General.  With an indrawn breath he drew his hand back and put it in his pocket.  His Christmas shopping was over.  A very unexpected Christmas shopping it had been.  In all that city of millions there were few personal purchases to be made for others.  What had to be gotten Hope got.  Not since the death of his mother had Christmas meant more than something to be dreaded and endured.  And to Claudia it meant so much.

Why had she come into his life?  Why was hers the divine gift of recognition which dispensed with the formal development of friendship and yielded, as a flower its fragrance, the warmth and gladness, the surety and genuineness, that so long he had looked for.  Apparently she was as unconscious as Dorothea, and yet too many men had loved her for her not to understand.  Not by the subtlest sign had she shown, however.  Indifference or dislike would have been more encouraging, but her cordial frankness had been that of unstirred depths.

Suppose she was engaged to another man?  Was that any reason why he should not tell her of his love, ask her to be his wife?  Puritanic scruples such as his were beyond pardon.  A sense of honor might go too far.  Why didn’t he find out if it were true what Dorothea had told him?  God!  To have had a vision, only to go through life in darkness!

An hundred times in fancy he had heard the sweep of her skirts, the sound of her footsteps, the tones of her voice, and laughter gay and sweet and soft; an hundred times had seen the glad eyes grow grave, the forehead wrinkle in fine folds, the quick turn of her head; an hundred times had felt the touch of her hands; and he had never asked Hope to bring her to his home, lest her spirit should not come again.