On Friday afternoon Thea Kronborg was walking excitedly up and down her sitting-room¹, which at that hour was flooded by thin, clear sunshine. Both windows were open, and the fire in the grate was low, for the day was one of those false springs that sometimes blow into New York from the sea in the middle of winter, soft, warm, with a persuasive² salty moisture in the air and a relaxing thaw³ under foot. Thea was flushed and animated⁴, and she seemed as restless as the sooty sparrows that chirped⁵ and cheeped distractingly about the windows. She kept looking at the black clock, and then down into the Square. The room was full of flowers, and she stopped now and then to arrange them or to move them into the sunlight. After the bellboy came to announce a visitor, she took some Roman hyacinths from a glass and stuck them in the front of her dark-blue dress.  
When at last Fred Ottenburg appeared in the doorway⁶, she met him with an exclamation⁷ of pleasure. “I am glad you’ve come, Fred. I was afraid you might not get my note, and I wanted to see you before you see Dr. Archie. He’s so nice!” She brought her hands together to emphasize her statement.
 
“Is he? I’m glad. You see I’m quite out of breath. I didn’t wait for the elevator, but ran upstairs. I was so pleased at being sent for.” He dropped his hat and overcoat. “Yes, I should say he is nice! I don’t seem to recognize all of these,” waving his handkerchief about at the flowers.
 
“Yes, he brought them himself, in a big box. He brought lots with him besides flowers. Oh, lots of things! The old Moonstone feeling,”—Thea moved her hand back and forth⁸ in the air, fluttering her fingers,—“the feeling of starting out, early in the morning, to take my lesson.”
 
“And you’ve had everything out with him?”
 
“No, I haven’t.”
 
“Haven’t?” He looked up in consternation⁹.
 
“No, I haven’t!” Thea spoke¹⁰ excitedly, moving about over the sunny patches on the grimy carpet. “I’ve lied to him, just as you said I had always lied to him, and that’s why I’m so happy. I’ve let him think what he likes to think. Oh, I couldn’t do anything else, Fred,”—she shook her head emphatically. “If you’d seen him when he came in, so pleased and excited! You see this is a great adventure for him. From the moment I began to talk to him, he entreated¹¹ me not to say too much, not to spoil his notion of me. Not in so many words, of course. But if you’d seen his eyes, his face, his kind hands! Oh, no! I couldn’t.” She took a deep breath, as if with a renewed sense of her narrow escape.
 
“Then, what did you tell him?” Fred demanded.
 
Thea sat down on the edge of the sofa and began shutting and opening her hands nervously¹². “Well, I told him enough, and not too much. I told him all about how good you were to me last winter, getting me engagements and things, and how you had helped me with my work more than anybody. Then I told him about how you sent me down to the ranch¹³ when I had no money or anything.” She paused and wrinkled her forehead. “And I told him that I wanted to marry you and ran away to Mexico with you, and that I was awfully¹⁴ happy until you told me that you couldn’t marry me because—well, I told him why.” Thea dropped her eyes and moved the toe of her shoe about restlessly on the carpet.
 
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