Before an answer to the call could come, she had opened the great door and pulled it sharply to behind her.
Outside, she lingered a moment as if in serenely absent contemplation of the street, with the air of one who sought to recall her next engagement.

Then, gathering up her skirts, she went leisurely down the steps and passed unhurriedly from the view of those dismayed eyes that she felt upon her from the Wyeth window.
On the avenue she turned north and was presently alone in a shaded aisle of the park--that park whose very trees and shrubs seem to have taken on a hard, knowing look from having been so long made the recipients of cynical confidences.

They seemed to understand perfectly what had happened, to echo Wyeth's high-pitched, friendly drawl, with an added touch of mockery that was all their own--"Oh--Linford!".