As a member of their shrunken circle, he was worth retaining.

Having convinced herself of his innocence of undue pretensions, Alma would, as the children say, be friends again, and everything should go smoothly.
He lived through a week of the wretchedest indecision, and at the end of it, when Wednesday afternoon came round, was again climbing the many stairs to the Frothinghams' flat; even more nervous than last time, much more ashamed of himself, and utterly doubtful as to his reception.
The maid admitted him without remark, and showed him into an empty room.

When he had waited for five minutes, staring at objects he did not see, Alma entered.
'Mamma went out to lunch,' she said, languidly shaking hands with him, 'and hasn't come back yet.' No greeting could have conveyed less encouragement.

She seated herself with a lifeless movement, looked at him, and smiled as if discharging a duty.
'I thought'-- he blundered into speech--'that Wednesday was probably your regular afternoon.' 'There is nothing regular yet.

We haven't arranged our life.