matrons, furred and aigretted. The pink in Fanny's cheeks
deepened. She loved luxury. She smiled and flashed at the
handsome old priest opposite her.

"You're a wastrel," she said, "but isn't it nice!" And
tasted the first delicious sip of soup.

"It is. For a change. Extravagance is good for all of us,
now and then." He glanced leisurely about the brilliant
room, then out to the street, bleakly windswept. He leaned
back and drummed a bit with his fingers on the satin-smooth
cloth. "Now and then. Tell me, Fanny, what would you say,
off-hand, was the most interesting thing you see from here?
You used to have a trick of picking out what they call the
human side. Your mother had it, too."

Fanny, smiling, glanced about the room, her eyes
unconsciously following the track his had taken. About the
room, and out, to the icy street. "The most interesting
thing?" Back to the flower-scented room, with its music,
and tinkle, and animation. Out again, to the street. "You
see that man, standing at the curb, across the street. He's
sort of crouched against the lamp post. See him? Yes,
there, just this side of that big gray car? He's all drawn
up in a heap. You can feel him shivering. He looks as if
he were trying to crawl inside himself for warmth. Ever
since we came in I've noticed him staring straight across at
these windows where we're all sitting so grandly, lunching.
I know what he's thinking, don't you? And I wish I
didn't feel so uncomfortable, knowing it. I wish we hadn't