Cherry and Hepburn.
Their heads were facing each other and they were two black silhouettes representing happiness.
I looked at poor Sibthorp who was walking just ahead of us. He, too, had seen the silhouette as it was outlined for one brief moment against the golden background, and I knew that his thoughts were not happy. I knew that Jack and Billy were somewhere behind us and a minute later Tom and his wife took the place of the lovers, but there was room for an ox team between them. And yet Tom and his wife are happy. But after twenty years silhouettes against the moon are not loverlike, however loverlike may be the hearts that are beating ten feet apart.
That night, after all had retired, Ethel stood before the glass taking out her hair-pins and she addressed my figure in the mirror.
“What do you suppose?” said she in a low voice.
“I suppose I’m tired,” said I yawning.
“Cherry is engaged.”
“Tell me something new,” said I. “Where are they going to live.”
“In his studio—”
“What,” I almost shouted. “Is it Jack after all.”