He followed Kirke slowly up the first flight of stairs and turned into his own bedroom near the top. He put on the light, and stood a short while with bent head in the middle of the room. He believed that what Kirke said was true. (Was that queer fish really gone on Delight?) But he hated to hurt Annie's feelings. Still he had had complaining letters from Mr. Hodgins, the owner; if anything could be done to bring in more revenue, the feelings of a waitress should not stand in the way.
Suddenly an idea came to him. He left his room and went quietly down the hall to the passage that led to the servants' quarters. He could hear Charley Bye's regular snore, unctuous as the beat of waves on a boggy shore. He stopped before Annie's door and listened. With his nail he scratched gently on the panel.
"You there, Annie?" he breathed.
There was a scuffle of stockinged feet on the floor, the door opened a crack, and Annie whispered:
"Is that you, Bill?"
"Yes, can you step out here a minute? Nobody about."
She came out, fully dressed but with her hair down, sticking out in short dark clumps about her tilted head. She looked so childlike, he put his hand in the mass of her hair and gave it a tug.
"Oh, you kid," he said, smiling down at her.
She jerked her head away.
"Don't get fresh, Bill."
"You call that fresh?"
"I certainly do."
"Annie."
"What d'you want?"
"Annie." He put his arm around her.
