“That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. “I believe that you are right,” he said softly. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her.
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