Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. And all this time perhaps you have been waiting, expecting to hear from me.
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