She had forgotten this gray day of winds. Her sentence, and the design of it, had been founded upon the recent run of superb spring days.
"There's a little thing that needs doing by the ocean—that's why I go." His words seemed to come from a distance.
"It would not do for you to look at the picture here. You'd feel expected to say something pretty—or most would. I want it out of its work-light, then you can judge and send it back if it's bad. I'll try to have it at the Club to-morrow…. You did not know this was the final sitting, did you?"
She was talking feverishly, in fear of his questions. She knew it must sound strange and unreasonable to his mind.
"No," he said gently. "You always surprise me. And the ride—Saturday?"
"Yes, the ride…. We must start——"
"Early?"
"Yes. We'll meet—at the Thirty-fourth Street boat—at seven."
"I thank you. And good-by."
There was something amazing to her in his capacity not to question. In her weakness she was grateful almost to tears. She would not show him her hurt, but crossed the room hastily, and extended her hand with a brave smile…. Listening, she heard him descend the stairs…. Then from the front window, she saw him reach the street, turn to the Avenue and mingle with men.