There he stood, at the footpath gate into his father's place.

He had arrayed himself in a blue and white flannel suit, white hat and shoes; a big expensive-looking cigarette adorned his lips.

The Martins, the Delevans, the Castles and the Bowens, neighbors across the way, were watching him admiringly through the meshes of lace window curtains.

She expected that he would come forward eagerly.

Instead, he continued to lean indolently on the gate, as if unaware of her approach.