Half Loaves by Margaret Culkin Banning

It was two days after the New Year had come in. Only nine o'clock, but Cecily had almost decided to go to bed. The timidity which she had felt often at first in being in a house alone at night had almost gone now, and she was locking the doors and windows and turning off lights with mechanical routine. The house was full of the fragrance of hothouse flowers. Dick's generosity had not taken into account the fact that flowers last more than a day and his "middle of the table" bouquet had overflowed into the other rooms. Cecily looked at them, wondering how long he planned to keep this up. She knew from the accounts in the paper that he had left town, for the papers had got wind of the new plan, and, to Dick's rage, played it up in one or two issues before they were suppressed.

The flowers pleased Cecily. For once she had hardly thought of whether they were consistent with the separation between her and her husband or not. It had been sheer delight to have flowers. As she went down to put some little yellow pink rose deeper in water she heard an unfamiliar sound and straightened up suddenly. There was surely some one at the side door fumbling with the door-knob. She looked at the clock; quarter past nine only. It couldn't be a burglar. Somebody drunk, perhaps. Pushing open the door to the pantry, she whistled softly and the big Airedale came rushing in. With him jumping beside her, she went towards the door.