Page:The strange experiences of Tina Malone.djvu/12

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NAOMI had been out all day. I had stayed at home to attend to various little household duties.

There was a glorious view from my front window. Across the harbour the sky was still flooded with the reflection of the sunset—the aftermath—in delicate colours of mauve and pink with little clouds all tipped with golden light; the ferry boats' lights, already lit, made them like fairy boats as they glided silently past one another, far away, while the lights of the city twinkled through a mist.

She called up to me from the flat below—evidently she knew I was standing at the window—perhaps she stood below, to look for a moment at the wonder of the world-picture I was watching.

"Are you there?" she called.

"Yes," I answered.

"If I come up in about half an hour's time will you be at home?"

Her voice was low and melodious, with rising amid falling inflections that somehow were unlike other people's.

"Yes," I said, "Come."

I hurried to put things a little straight. We were both Bohemians in the matter of furniture, using kerosene cases for cupboards and sofas, and sundry other little make-shifts. It was furniture that would move easily and serve as packing-cases in time of need. Books and papers scattered about were a thing we neither of us bothered about much, for they were daily necessaries to us both, and we left them lying where they were, or gathered them into a careless heap. So I left them strewn about, knowing that such confusion would be accepted by her as a matter of course.

I had had a hurried tea when she came up.

Her eyes were shining and bright and her cheeks and lips were full of colour.

"Here you are," she said.

I started a little. There was something in her voice and walk to-night that was peculiar—a little as if she were vague and uncertain.

I was always happy when I was with her and we chatted and I showed her some sketches I had made long years ago.