"Mamma, you--But just wait, mamma."

Miriam stepped half resolutely into the room, peeling the glove from off
her left hand, and her glance here and there and everywhere with the
hither and thither of a wind-blown leaf.

"Mamma, guess what--what we--we got to tell you? Mamma, we--Irving,
you--you tell," Her bared hand fell like a quivering wing and she shrank
back against his gray tweed coat-sleeve. "Irving, you tell!"

"Miriam, nothing ain't wrong! Izzy, my--"

"No, no, Mrs. Binswanger, nothing is wrong; what Miriam was trying to
say was that everything's right, wasn't it, Miriam?"

"Yes, Irving."

Mr. Binswanger threw two hands with the familiar upward gesture. "Come,
right away in a few minutes you got to get off, Shapiro. First I take
you up and show you the card-room and--"

"'Sh-h-h-h, papa, let Irving--Go on, Irving."

He cleared his throat, inserting two fingers within his tall collar.
"You see, Mr. Binswanger, you and Mrs. Binswanger, just at the last
minute we--we both seen we couldn't let go!"

"Miriam!"