solution save to go back home and confess himself a failure and that in itself would be no solution. That meant that he had to begin all over again somewhere else in this heartless world of blacks, near whites, and whites. This world where they stabbed horses who were eating geraniums. Flinging himself on a Park bench, he buried his face in his hands.
He was awakened by a cry which his subconsciousness warned him was addressed to him. He looked up to stare at a halted automobile. In the open doorway eyes flashed under a sable toque and a gloved hand beckoned. He did not recognize what he could see of the face: the great collar of a sable coat protected the chin and caressed the cheek. Nevertheless, he responded to the summons.
You! he exclaimed.
Yes, Lasca replied. Jumpin. I'm chilled to the bone and I want to close the door.
He obeyed her. The chauffeur drove on.
What on earth are you doing in the Park at this hour in the morning? she demanded. Have you become a forester or a landscape gardener?
I must have been waiting for you! His spirits were rising. As he sank back into the grateful luxury of the soft cushions next to this lovely animal swathed in sables, she tucked the robe of leopardfur around his legs.
I've telephoned you several times, he announced.
