“Note? No, I’ve had no note from you. Oh, I know what happened. Curtis left in a hurry this morning, and he swooped all the mail into his pocket the last moment. I knew some of my letters were with his. There’s where your note went. But, never mind, it makes no difference now that we’ve met. Yes, by all means, come tonight⁠—to dinner. We’re not a bit formal. Curtis won’t have it. We dine at six; and I’ll try to get the others. Oh, but Page won’t be there, I forgot. She and Landry Court are going to have dinner with Aunt Wess’, and they are all going to a lecture afterwards.”

The artist expressed his appreciation and accepted her invitation.

“Do you know where we live?” she demanded. “You know we’ve moved since.”

“Yes, I know,” he told her. “I made up my mind to take a long walk here in the Park this morning, and I passed your house on my way out. You see, I had to look up your address in the directory before writing. Your house awed me, I confess, and the style is surprisingly good.”