He thought the serenity of the flapper
was remarkable. She seemed to feel that nothing wonderful had happened.
There was something awful about that calm.
* * * * *
The car stopped before the steam-heated apartment. There were but brief
adieus before it went on. Cassidy sat at the head of his basement stairs
with a Sunday paper. He was reading an article entitled, "My Secrets of
Beauty," profusely illustrated.
"I wouldn't have one o' the things did ye give it t' me," said Cassidy.
"Runnin' inta telegrapht poles an' trolley cairs."
"Couple of friends of mine took me out for a little spin," said Bean,
clutching his stick, his gloves and Nap's leash.
He seemed to be still spinning.
In his own place he went quickly to Its closet, pulled open the door and
shouted aloud:
"Well, what do you make of _that_?"
The sound of his own voice was startling as he caught the look of the
serene Ram-tah. He softly closed the door upon what his living self had
been. He was too violent.
But he could not be cool all at once. He tossed hat, stick, and gloves
aside and paced the room.
Engaged to be married! That was all any one could make of it. All the
agreeable iniquity had been extracted from the affair. It was fearsomely
respectable. And it was deadly serious. How had he got into it? And yet
he had always felt something ominous in that girl's look.
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