It must be the air in here, Mary hurried on. It's very close. I felt fine when I came in.
Miss Silbert's glance sought the secret in Mary's eyes, searched deep into her soul, Mary felt, but the librarian said nothing more.
One o'clock at last. Craig's. The same crowd. The same gossip, but today it seemed to have a new and unpleasant significance. They seemed to be talking about her. She caught phrases without names:
He went to see her last night. . . .
. . . creeper. . . .
Some sheik! Ha! Ha!
One-fifteen. Still Mary waited. As Byron had not arrived at one-thirty, she ordered lunch, only to discover when it was served that she was not hungry. The food revolted her, choked her. The vague chorus continued to buzz around her. The laughter bubbled.
At a quarter of two, as she was arising from her seat preparing to draw on her cloak, he came in. Her expression reproached him.
Hello, Mary, he greeted her.
I thought you were coming to lunch with me.
He seemed bewildered.
I didn't understand it that way. I'msorry. Did you wait? I thought you meant for me to look in on you here.
You said you'd join me.
