"Well," he said. "Well, well," the words dropping down into the dry well of a gulp.
But somehow after the episode of the luggage, everything was easier, for
Lilly at least. She could smile now.
Very presently they were actually in a taxicab together, the talk of the moment echoing against the silence of unspoken words taking shape between them.
"Papa!" she said, finally, from the little folding seat opposite him, stroking his hands and steadying herself with them against the throw of the cab. "Oh, papa, papa!"
He smiled back through crinkles that were new to her, patting her in turn and looking off.
Mrs. Becker fell to crying, pressing her handkerchief up against her eyes and trying to lift her veil above the tears.
"After all these years," she kept repeating. "Years. Years."
"Now, now, Carrie—you promised."
"What hotel?" asked Penny, one of the bags across his knees and one weather eye for the other on the driver's seat.
"The Astor; that is one of the best. I've your rooms all arranged for.
My—my place is too small."