for anybody. It's the humanest stuff. And he isn't afraid
of anything. New York's crazy about him. They say he's
getting a salary you wouldn't believe. I'm a tongue-tied
old fool when I'm with him, but then, he likes to talk about
you, mostly, so it doesn't matter."

Fanny turned swiftly from the dressing-table, where she was
taking the pins out of her vigorous, abundant hair.

"What kind of thing does he say about me, Ellen girl. H'm?
What kind of thing?"

"Abuse, mostly. I'll be running along to my own room now.
I'll be out for lunch, but back at four, for that airing
Fenger's so wild to have me take. If I were you I'd lie
down for an hour, till you get your land-legs." She poked
her head in at the door again. "Not that you look as if you
needed it. You've got a different look, somehow. Kind of
rested. After all, there's nothing like an ocean voyage."

She was gone. Fanny stood a moment, in the center of the
room. There was nothing relaxed or inert about her. Had
you seen her standing there, motionless, you would still
have got a sense of action from her. She looked so
splendidly alive. She walked to the window, now, and stood
looking down upon New York in early June. Summer had not
yet turned the city into a cauldron of stone and steel.
From her height she could glimpse the green of the park,
with a glint of silver in its heart, that was the lake. Her
mind was milling around, aimlessly, in a manner far removed