should go and look the situation over. He had been trying to get the
Waynes' telephone since one o'clock. He had been told at intervals of
fifteen minutes by a resolutely cheerful central that their number did
not answer. Mr. Lanley hated people who did not answer their telephone.
Nor was he agreeably impressed by the four flights of stairs, or by the
appearance of the servant who answered his ring.

"Won't do, won't do," he kept repeating in his own mind.

He was shown into the sitting-room. It was in shadow, for only a shaded
reading-lamp was lighted, and his first impression was of four windows;
they appeared like four square panels of dark blue, patterned with
stars. Then a figure rose to meet him--a figure in blue draperies, with
heavy braids wound around the head, and a low, resonant voice said, "I
am Mrs. Wayne."

As soon as he could he walked to the windows and looked out to the river
and the long, lighted curves of the bridges, and beyond to Long Island,
to just the ground where the Battle of Long Island had been fought--a
battle in which an ancestor of his had particularly distinguished
himself. He said something polite about the view.

"Let us sit here where we can look out," she said, and sank down on a
low sofa drawn under the windows. As she did so she came within the
circle of light from the lamp. She sat with her head leaned back against
the window-frame, and he saw the fine line of her jaw, the hollows in her
cheek, the delicate modeling about her brows, not obscured by much
eyebrow, and her long, stretched throat. She was not quite maternal
enough to look like a Madonna, but she did look like a saint, he thought.