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Since that week--except
for the twenty-four hours of the wedding, he had not "encountered" a
lady. Yet here he was, going to meet an entire stranger without any
conscious embarrassment or suffering. He was even in a sense curious.
Peter was not given to self-analysis, but the change was too marked a
one for him to be unconscious of it. Was it merely the poise of added
years? Was it that he had ceased to care what women thought of him? Or
was it that his discovery that a girl was lovable had made the sex less
terrible to him? Such were the questions he asked himself as he walked,
and he had not answered them when he rang the bell of the old-fashioned,
double house on Second Avenue.
He was shown into a large drawing-room, the fittings of which were still
shrouded in summer coverings, preventing Peter from inferring much, even
if he had had time to do so. But the butler had scarcely left him when,
with a well-bred promptness from which Peter might have drawn an
inference, the rustle of a woman's draperies was heard.


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