“Well....” She hesitated, uncertain of her meaning, uncertain of what they were talking about.
He laughed. She admired his way of telling when she couldn’t understand him; he never really embarrassed her by trying to talk over her head as some men tried to do: not that they really could, of course. She was an American woman and just as smart as any man. Caroline stood there looking at the square with Trebling who had just laughed and saved her from embarrassment; Caroline stood erect and sure of herself and her emancipation, her arm in his.
Then, without speaking, he led her across the middle of the square. It was dazzling to cross between the many lights. Caroline liked the colors. They seemed rather cozy to her. Times Square was in many ways her symbol of home. It was no longer interesting because home is never interesting but she liked it still.
“Look at all the movie houses,” he said when they had gotten over on the other side. “There’s so much of everything. But it’s dirty. It’s all awfully dirty.”
“Is it?” Caroline had not thought of that. Perhaps the square was not very clean but how could it be? There were always so many people coming to be impressed or depressed by it.
“Bob used to talk a lot about this part of town, about Broadway. I think he used to like it a lot,” said Trebling.
“Is that right?”
“Oh, sure. He was a playboy during the war.”
Caroline was surprised but not very interested. “He sure’s changed a lot,” she said. “He’s a nice fellow and I know you think a lot of him but he’s a little dull ... now, anyway.”
“I think,” said Trebling, “that people sometimes feel they have to change to protect themselves. He’s just making a new life now.”