The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. The doctor smoked his pipe thoughtfully. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. . There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. She were brought to bed a few days after Miss Mary. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Things happened frequently over here that wouldn't happen in the States once in a hundred years. In addition to the various business men, solicitors, civil servants, and widow ladies who lived in the Morningside Park Avenue, there was a certain family of alien sympathies and artistic quality, the Widgetts, with which Ann Veronica had become very friendly. But, by Jove! it’s going to make our loving a fiercely abstract thing. Yes, very well.
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