In her letters Athalie never mentioned Captain Dane; not because she
had anything to conceal regarding him or herself; but she seemed to be
aware that any mention of that friendship might not evoke a
sympathetic response from Clive.

So, in her last letter, as in the others, she had not spoken of
Captain Dane. Yet, now, he was the only man with whom she ever went
anywhere and whom she received at her own apartment.

He had a habit of striding in two or three evenings in a week,--a big,
fair, broad-shouldered six-footer, with sun-narrowed eyes of arctic
blue, a short blond moustache, and skin permanently burned by the
unshadowed glare of many and tropic days.

They went about together on Sundays, usually; sometimes in hot weather
to suburban restaurants for dinner and a breath of air, sometimes to
roof gardens.

Why he lingered in town--for he seemed always to be at leisure--she
did not know. And she wondered a little that he should elect to remain
in the heat-cursed city whence everybody else she knew had fled.

Dane was a godsend to her. With him she went to the Bronx Zoological
Park several times, intensely interested in what he had to say
concerning the creatures housed there, and shyly proud and delighted
to meet the curators of the various departments who all seemed to know
Dane and to be on terms of excellent fellowship with him.