nt look, somehow. Kind of
rested. After all, there's nothing like an ocean voyage."

She was gone. Fanny stood a moment, in the center of the room. There
was nothing relaxed or inert about her. Had you seen her standing there,
motionless, you would still have got a sense of action from her. She
looked so splendidly alive. She walked to the window, now, and stood
looking down upon New York in early June. Summer had not yet turned
the city into a cauldron of stone and steel. From her height she could
glimpse the green of the park, with a glint of silver in its heart, that
was the lake. Her mind was milling around, aimlessly, in a manner far
removed from its usual orderly functioning. Now she thought of Theodore,
her little brother--his promised return. It had been a slow and painful
thing, his climb. Perhaps if she had been more ready to help, if she
had not always waited until he asked the aid that she might have
volunteered--she thrust that thought out of her mind, rudely, and
slammed the door on it.... Fenger. He had said, "Damn!" when she had
told him about Ella. And his voice had been--well--she pushed that
thought outside her mind, too.... Clarence Heyl.... "He makes you think
about things you're afraid to face by yourself. Big things. Things
inside of you...."

Fanny turned away from the window. She decided she must be tired, after
all. Because here she was, with everything to make her happy: Theodore
coming home; her foreign trip a success; Ella and Fenger to praise her
and make much of her; a drive and tea this afternoon (she wasn't above
these creature comforts)--and still she felt unexhilarated, dull. She
decided to go down for a bit of lunch, and perhaps a stroll of ten
or fifteen minutes, just to see what Fifth avenue was showing. It
was half-past one when she reached that ordinarily well-regulated
thoroughfare. She found its sidewalks packed solid, up and down, as far
as the eye could see, with a quiet, orderly, expectant mass of people.
Squads of mounted police clattered up and down, keeping the middle
of the street cleared. Whatever it was that had called forth that
incredible mass, was scheduled to proceed uptown from far downtown, and
that very soon. Heads were turned that way. Fanny, wedged in the crowd,
stood a-tiptoe, but she could see nothing. It brought to her mind the
Circus Day of her Winnebago childhood, with Elm street packed with
townspeople and farmers, all straining their eyes up toward Cher