“You didn’t?”
“No, my word of honor.”
“Then who? I can’t think of anyone, unless—”
“Who?”
She fastened a rose in her dress, forgetting to answer.
The table was faultlessly set with fine damask. The heavy cut glass sparkled in the candle light. A pine wood fire threw a soft glimmer over the room; there was no other light. Floyd felt a sense of æsthetic satisfaction. He hated the big flats of the West Side with their electric illumination; he was glad he didn’t have to live in them. The bell rang.
“Who can that be at this hour?”
“You needn’t announce me, I’ll go right in.”
“Martin!”
Julie was on her feet looking for a way of escape. Floyd put her back in her seat.