"And what's your husband been up to, Mrs. Heath?" he continued, settling himself more comfortably in his big chair, and pushing his white Homburg hat backward to leave his brown forehead bare to a tiny breeze which spoke softly, very gently, of the sea. "You've been over here for a big bunch of Sundays, Alston tells me, week-days too."
"Oh—" She seemed to be hesitating.
Alston's boyish eyes twinkled with appreciation.
"Well, we came here—we wanted to be quiet."
"You've got out of sight of Broadway, that's certain."
Tea and iced drinks were brought out. They talked of casual matters. The softness of late afternoon, warm, scented, exotic, dreamed in the radiant air. And Crayford said:
"It's cute! It's cute!"
He had removed his hat now and almost lay back in his chair. Presently he said:
"Seems to me years since I've rested like this, Alston!"
"I believe it is many years," said Lake, with a little satisfied laugh. "I've never seen you do it before."