washed the breakfast dishes. She mopped the floor in all the places that the rug didn't cover and she dusted thoroughly even into places that had not been reached since she had rented the apartment. She stopped once and ate a slice of bread and butter. When she was finished she went to the window to watch for Hubert.
It was a few minutes past one when he came. She saw him walking toward the house and she wondered about the car. Her first thought was that he had been in an accident which had completely destroyed the car but left him hale and hearty. She convinced herself that he had been to the garage first and had walked home to save himself a trip later. As he came toward her she studied his expression anxiously. Had he had any luck? How was he feeling? His expression told her nothing.
She thought it took him an unusually long time to reach the apartment. He probably was warm and ill. She drew away from the window and opened the door. She stood waiting on the threshold listening to his footsteps. Slow footsteps. If she hadn't seen Hubert coming she would have thought a very old man was climbing the stairs. He must be pretty sick.
He came in and sat down immediately. "Hello," he said. "God, it's hot."
"Yes. Why didn't you drive home? You could have taken the car back when you were more rested."
"I came down by train. That's what delayed me so. I had to wait for a train and then fell asleep and rode past my station and had to come back by subway and everything. It was a nuisance. What were you saying? Oh, the car? Why, I left it with Helen. She—she
