There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. Capes had the gift of easy, unaffected writing, coupled with very clear and logical thinking, and to follow his written thought gave her the sensation of cutting things with a perfectly new, perfectly sharp knife. Both ladies were on easy and friendly terms with all that was best in Morningside Park society; they had an afternoon once a month that was quite well attended, they sometimes gave musical evenings, they dined out and gave a finish to people’s dinners, they had a full-sized croquet lawn and tennis beyond, and understood the art of bringing people together. You were wide the mark, physically; otherwise you had him pat. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire.
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