Nan did not answer. She was thinking of Wenny bursting into her room that spring morning, how the flame of him had frozen her into a helpless clicking automaton, and when he had gone she had watched him from the window rush across the street and all the rigid life had gone out of her so that she lay with her head on the windowledge and looked at the empty snowpiled street ... agony not beauty that was.
Art Museum, called out the conductor. They alighted and walked slowly along past the pompous marble oblong of the dental clinic.
"O, Nancibel, I'd forgotten to tell you," cried Fitzie, suddenly turning excitedly to Nan, "I've seen Mabel Worthington."
"The girl from the Fadettes, your friend who eloped?"
"Yes, and just imagine it, she's terribly successful."
"What at?"
"Why, I don't just know. She's living at the Vendome, just think of that. I think she's managing concert tours, and she's married and everything. Several of the girls have been to see her."
"So she married the boy she eloped with? The Italian you said was so good looking."
"No, she didn't ... That's what so queer. She's Mrs. Van Troppfer and her husband's a Dutchman."
Nan burst out laughing.