She clasped her hands in a spontaneous gesture of rapt attention; and
when the sound paused at her gate, with one or two sweet, lingering
clingles, "I knew it!" she said aloud. Yet she did not go to the window
to look into the moonlit night. Standing there in the middle of the
room, she awaited the knock which was not long in coming. It was
imperative, insistent. Amelia, who had a spirit responsive to the
dramatic exigencies of life, felt a little flush spring into her face,
so hot that, on the way to the door, she involuntarily put her hand to
her cheek and held it there. The door came open grumblingly. It sagged
upon the hinges, but, well-used to its vagaries, she overcame it with a
regardless haste.
"Come in," she said, at once, to the man on the step. "It's cold. Oh,
come in!"
He stepped inside the entry, removing his fur cap, and disclosing a
youthful face charged with that radiance which made him, at
thirty-five, almost the counterpart of his former self. It may have
come only from the combination of curly brown hair, blue eyes, and an
aspiring lift of the chin, but it always seemed to mean a great deal
more. In the kitchen, he threw off his heavy coat, while Amelia,
bright-eyed and breathing quickly, stood by, quite silent.
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