always at seven o'clock. I was
ready at quarter of, with cold hands and hot cheeks. I knew the very
instant that Mr. Jennings entered the room that evening. I was standing
at the far end with my back toward the door, talking to the war
veteran. At the first sound of Mr. Jennings' greeting as he met Lucy, I
became deaf to all else. I heard him speaking to the others near
her--such a trained and cultured voice--but I didn't turn around. I kept
my eyes riveted on the veteran. It was enough, at that instant, to be in
the same room with Robert Jennings. And when Lucy finally said, "Shall
we go out?" I wondered if I could bear the ordeal of turning around and
meeting his eyes. I needn't have been afraid. He spared me that. There
was no greeting of any kind between us until we sat down.

Lucy had placed him at the end of the table farthest away from me, and
after the guests were all settled, I dared at last to look up. A swift,
sweeping glance I meant it to be, but his eyes were waiting for mine,
and secretly, concealed by the noise and chatter all around, somewhere
among Lucy's carnations in the center of the table, we met. Only for an
instant. He returned immediately to his partner, and I to mine. He
answered her, we both selected a piece of silver--and then, abruptly,
ran away to each other again. Frequently, during that dinner, as we
gained confidence and learned the way, we met among the carnations.

Never before was I so glad of what good looks heaven had bestowed upon
me as when I saw this man's eyes examine and approve. Never before did I
feel so elated at a dinner, so glad to be alive. My pulse ran high. My
spirits fairly danced. And all without cocktails, too! Not only did our
eyes meet in stolen interviews, but our voices, too. He couldn't speak
but what I heard him, nor did I laugh but what it was meant for him.

During the hour occasions occurred when Mr. Jennings alone did the
talking, while the rest listened. I could observe him then without fear
of discovery. He sat there opposite me in his perfect evening clothes,
as much at home and at ease as in Scotch tweeds in the woods. As he
leaned forward a little, one cuffed wrist resting on the table's edge,
his fine head held erect, expressing his ideas in clear and well-turned
phrases, confident in himself, and listened to with attention, I glowed
with pride at the thought of my intimacy with him. A professor's wife?
That was a mere name--but _his_, this young aris