“Well, yes, I rather think I am,” admitted Eveley.
“How would you go about it?”
“The way Lem does,” came the quick retort, and Miriam laughed, suddenly and lightly.
She was very quiet as they drove down Fifth Street. Only once she spoke.
“It was the seventh step, wasn’t it, Eveley?”
“Yes, the seventh.”
“The Revolution of the Seventh Step,” she said, laughing again.
This was nonsense to Lem Landis, but he did not ask questions. Women always talked such rot to each other. And he was wondering if Mrs. Cartle would surely be at the ball?
“The way Lem does.”
The words were startlingly sufficient. From five years of painful experience, Mrs. Landis knew how Lem did it. And so on this evening, as she stood beside him in a corner of the ballroom after their first greetings, and looked as he did with eager speculative eyes about the wide room, seeking, seeking, she felt a curious sympathy and harmony between herself and her husband. She knew without turning her head when the sudden brightening in his eyes came; and then he slowly made his way to the dim corner where Mrs. Cartle sat waiting.