"To attempt to explain to a New Yorker why any one might prefer to live in any other place would be a difficult task."
"You are incomprehensible, Peter," she declared. And yet she felt a relief that surprised her, and a desire to get away from the subject. "Dear old St. Louis! Somehow, in spite of your greatness, it seems to fit you."
"It's growing," said Peter—and they laughed together.
"Why didn't you come to lunch?" she said.
"Lunch! I didn't know that any one ever went to lunch in New York—in this part of it, at least—with less than three weeks' notice. And by the way, if I am interfering with any engagement—"
"My book is not so full as all that. Of course you'll come and stay with us, Peter."
He shook his head regretfully.
"My train leaves at six, from Forty-Second Street," he replied.
"Oh, you are niggardly," she cried. "To think how little I see of you, Peter. And sometimes I long for you. It's strange, but I still miss you terribly—after five years. It seems longer than that," she added, as she poured the boiling water into the tea-pot. But she did not look at him.
He got up and walked as far as a water-colour on the wall.