It doesn't matter to Stephanie what I do--why I go or remain.

You're all wrong.

Stephanie and I understand each other." "I'll see that she understands _you_" said his sister, sorrowfully.
He laughed and kissed her again, impatient.

But why he was impatient he himself did not know.

Certainly it was not to find Stephanie, for whom he started to look--and, on the way, glanced at his watch, determined not to miss the train that would bring him into town in time to talk to Valerie West over the telephone.
Passing the lighted and open windows, he saw Querida and Alice absorbed in a tete-a-tete, ensconced in a corner of the big living room; saw Gordon playing with Heinz, the dog--named Heinz because of the celebrated "57 varieties" of dog in his pedigree--saw Miss Aulne at solitaire, exchanging lively civilities with Sandy Cameron at the piano between charming bits of a classic ballad which he was inclined to sing: "I'd share my pottage With you, dear, but True love in a cottage Is hell in a hut." "Is that you, Stephanie ?" he asked, as a dark figure, seated on the veranda, turned a shadowy head toward him.
"Yes.