Kenny closed the outer door and blocked out the roar of the city. New York receded, its hum very far away. Their heels clanked loudly in the quiet.
As they climbed the steps and came out in the courtyard, Ann's windows, trimly curtained, twinkled pleasantly through the snow ahead.
A girl stood waiting in the doorway.
"Hello, Ann!" called Kenny joyously. "Is it you?"
"Hello, Kenny!" cried a pleasant contralto voice. "Hurry up. It's snowing like fury."
Kenny seized Joan's hand and raced her across the courtyard and up the steps. When she came to a halt, shy and breathless, she was standing by a crackling wood-fire in a room that seemed all coziness and color and soft light.
A tall girl with black hair, a clear skin and intelligent eyes was smiling at them both.
"Kenny," exclaimed Ann Marvin, "you Irish will-of-the-wisp! Where have you been? Everybody's talking about you. Joan, dear, shake the snow off your coat. You're beginning to melt."
Joan's eyes opened wide at the sound of her name. Ann laughed and pinched her flushed cheek.
"My dear," she said drolly, "I know more than your name. Kenny sent me a letter of measures, spiritual, mental and physical that would turn Bertillon green with envy. If ever you default with all the foolish hearts in New York I'll turn you over to the police. And you'll never escape."