“Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. I've opened the case of books. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. Her arms and feet were uncovered, and of almost skeleton thinness. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. The occasion is worth a dash of the grape, lad. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee.
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