He glanced at the totals.
"Right," he said, and drew out a check book.
He wrote slowly, painstakingly, as though it required effort to hold his hand steady. She watched him, with her heart high in her throat, hampering her breathing. The number—the date—the amount in script—in figures—his name—to the last period.
That was all. It was all over, now, for he was handing the check to her and rising, reaching for his hat. She looked at the slip of paper but could not read.
"That concludes our contract," he was saying, "That and my thanks—"
They faced one another. Her eyes went to his beseechingly.
"Thanks? My thanks are due to you," she said.
"No, I—I feel as though I were testifying in a revival. You have done a great deal for me. I came up here a—I didn't amount to much. I have learned this: that I know very little; and perhaps that is the first step in finding out things.
"I think you are the biggest person I have ever met," very humbly, and almost shyly, as though his words were presumptuous. "You have opened my eyes, you have set me straight.
"I made you so much trouble. I didn't mean to, but it was because I was ignorant and didn't know it. I'm so sorry." He paused and flushed as he mustered his courage. "I was presumptuous. I—I aspired to things that were quite beyond me."
He was letting her out easily, he was doing his best to cover the hurt that her error had caused them both! He was going now. She was conscious that he moved toward the door as though in haste. She followed.
