As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. Slipshod; follow me. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. “Neither Sydney nor I would think of such a thing. Oh, you cannot escape from it. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound.
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