she inscribed, at the bottom of Mr. Armiston's letters to Lew, the symbol RA/EP, she imagined Lew noticing it and recognizing her initials; but he gave no sign of knowledge of her presence.
Ellen had taken a room near Washington Square and she spent a glorious September Sunday about the docks of the Hudson, watching the ferries, the tugs and the great liners in the slips on both sides of the river. Ships! Deep, rumbling blasts of steam whistles, the swish of cutwaters, the beat of the engines, the tap of bells—one two, one two, one two.
It made her weak with homesickness, but it was at the waterfront that she planned her Monday call upon Lew.
Instead of sending, by messenger, a pattern which required his approval, she carried it to his office. "May I see Mr. Alban, please?" And she sent in her name.
He received her, seated and tilted back, slightly, in his dark-grained chair at his big, dark-grained table.—The girl who had ushered her slipped out and Ellen stood alone with him, his eyes roving over her.
"So it's you," he greeted her. "You decided to follow me."
"I'm in Mr. Armiston's office," Ellen said.
Lew nodded, with his eyes still roving, his lips slightly smiling. "When did you come down?"
"A couple of weeks ago."
"You're just letting me know," remarked Lew, watching her face and the increase of her discomfiture, as he put out his hand for the paper she held and, taking it from her, tossed it aside. "Is there any real hurry about that?"
