You're wet, Mr. Farnum," the young woman said.

"A little."

She stood hesitating in the doorway leading to the apartment of herself
and her mother, then yielded shyly to a kindly impulse.

"We've been making chocolate. Won't you come in and have some? You look
cold."

Jeff glimpsed beyond her the warm grate fire in the room. He, too,
yielded to an impulse. "Since you're so good as to ask me, Miss Nellie."

She took charge of his hat and overcoat, making him sit down in a big
armchair before the fire. He watched her curiously as she moved lightly
about waiting on him. Nellie was a soft round little person with
constant intimations of a childhood not long outgrown. Jeff judged she
must be nineteen or twenty, but she had moments of being charmingly
unsure of herself. The warm color came and went in her clear cheeks at
the least provocation.

"Mother's gone to bed. She always goes early. You don't mind," she asked
naively.

Jeff smiled. She was, he thought, about as worldly wise as a fluffy
kitten. "No, I don't mind at all," he assured her.

Nor did he in the least. His weariness was of the spirit rather than the
body, and he found her grace, her shy sweetness, grateful to the jaded
senses. It counted in her favor that she was not clever or ultra-modern.
The dimpling smiles, the quick sympathy of this innocent, sensuous young
creature, drew him out of his depression. When he left the pleasant
warmth of the room half an hour later it was with a little glow at the
heart. He had found comfort and refreshment.

How it came to pass Jeff never quite understood, but it soon was almost
a custom for him to drop into the living room to get a cup of chocolate
when he came home. He found himself looking forward to that half hour
alone with Nellie Anderson. Whoever else criticized him, she did not.
The manner in which she made herself necessary to his material comfort
was masterly. She would be waiting, eager to help him off with his
overcoat, hot chocolate and sandwiches ready for him in the cozy
living-room. To him, who for years had lived a hand-to-mouth boarding
house existence, her shy wholesome laughter made that room sing of home,
one which her personality fitted to a dot. She was always in good humor,
always trim and neat, always alluring to the eye. And she had the pretty
little domestic ways that go to the head of a bachelor when he eats
alone with an attractive girl.

Their intimacy was not exactly a secret. Mrs.