Her knowledge of this fact gave her a feeling of personal comfort in this large, lavish room where she could look at and touch and use handsome things and feel sure that the possessor had paid for them.
There was a big, upholstered couch, convertible into a bed, which was similar to one upstairs upon which she slept; and she sat down upon it, thinking, appreciatively, "This is paid for." And, looking at Ket, she thought how he honestly earned his money; she saw what a boy he was and her bosom thrilled. Then she looked away at his wall and the photographs which covered it.
Ket cleared a violin case, a flute and a couple of photographs, in silver frames, from the top of his piano and opened it in a professional way. He struck the keys, with his resonant, singing touch, making his notes march with an awakening, inspiriting tread of time which thrilled the girl again. She leaned forward tapping with her toe on his thick, expensive and paid-for rug.
Suddenly he broke off and swung about, catching her with a glow in her eyes. "You like it!" he cried with delight. "It's great! Ain't it—ain't it great?"
"I do like it, Ket," she replied.
"Ain't it great—great?" he insisted.
"It's—good, Ket."
"Good!" he repeated and instantly angered at the faintness of her praise. "It's a knock-out, I tell you. It got 'em all to-night. And it got you, just now, Jo! I saw you. It's going to be a big hit!"
She flushed as she faced him and closed her lips tightly and her eyes did not waver. She stared straight at him, but hardly seeing him for her thinking about him; and he knew she would scarcely hear, if he assailed her again.
No one else ever became so intent in thought over him. He did not understand it, but he realized that it was over him, and consequently he liked it.
