“I was watching you at Morningside Park, dear,” said Miss Miniver. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. Their colorful displays seemed to repel the dreariness of the sky as each group savored its long awaited moment, its weekend arrival in front of the opposite sex. Then she was out of the door and running, fast. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. I’ll have to make a visit out of town.
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