There wasn’t much furniture in the room besides the bed—a commode, a table, and three chairs. One of the chairs was an old Morris chair. It was worth all the rest of the furniture put together to Stella. It was Stella’s bed. The back of it was let down so that it extended on the same level as the seat. There was a blanket folded over one arm, and Laurel’s old worn-out, outgrown coon coat over the other. There was Ed’s cheap suitcase and a pillow piled up on one of the remaining chairs, and this was shoved up close to the end of the makeshift bed to lengthen it. Surprising how well you can sleep on an old Morris chair if you work hard daytimes, or even on the floor if you get cramped. It’s all a matter of getting used to it.

The candle spit and sputtered as if it objected to the scene it lighted. Stella didn’t blame it. It wasn’t especially beautiful. Stella would be busy in the room till midnight “redding it up,” when she got back. She did like a neat room to sleep in. It looked like somebody’s backyard just at present, with all Ed’s clothes and a few of her own hanging up to dry on a cord she’d stretched back and forth from wall to wall. Ed’s unwashed breakfast dishes were on the floor beside the bed. He’d roused enough to take the nourishment she’d left for him apparently.

She blew the candle out, put it back upon the chair, closed the door and locked it, descended four flights of bare stairway, and went out again beneath the stars.

2

STELLA COULD HAVE spoken to Laurel if the window had been open. She was as near to her as that! She could see her as clearly as if she had been inside. How lucky the curtains had been forgotten again. How lucky this particular window had been selected in which to stand to meet the guests! Gracious, but the flowers were really lovely. Stella had never seen so many in one room in her life. They must smell like a funeral. Those flowers had been sent to Laurel by her friends and admirers. She certainly had a few! The papers hadn’t exaggerated any, Stella guessed. Laurel, standing in the midst of her garden, was like a great big flower herself.

Stella had never seen her look more beautiful. Her dress was white, chiffon, she thought, made over something silvery, that made her shine as if there was dew all over her. No dress Stella had ever provided for Laurel could touch this. One of those artists, whose address only the few and fortunate possess, had made this fairy gown for Laurel, Stella guessed. My, how she became it! Gosh! She looked like a regular queen tonight!