Miss Klegg and the youngest girl made a vigorous attack on Miss Garvice, who had said she thought women lost something infinitely precious by mingling in the conflicts of life. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. Come back with me to-night. E. we’ll stop by the Amoco on Maple. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. You had better go to bed. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed.
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