“Caught in the jam. And I didn't want to get out. It was—it was—glorious!” She was shaking hands with Fenger, and realizing for the first time that she must be looking decidedly sketchy and that she had lost her handkerchief. She fished for it in her bag, hopelessly, when Fenger released her hand. He had not spoken. Now he said:
“What's the matter with your eyes?”
“I've been crying,” Fanny confessed cheerfully.
“Crying!”
“The parade. There was a little girl in it—” she stopped. Fenger would not be interested in that little girl. Now Clancy would have—but Ella broke in on that thought.
“I guess you don't realize that out in front of this hotel there's a kind of a glorified taxi waiting, with the top rolled back, and it's been there half an hour. I never expect to see the time when I could enjoy keeping a taxi waiting. It goes against me.”
“I'm sorry. Really. Let's go. I'm ready.”
“You are not. Your hair's a sight; and those eyes!”
Fenger put a hand on her arm. “Go on up and powder your nose, Miss Brandeis. And don't hurry. I want you to enjoy this drive.”
On her way up in the elevator Fanny thought, “He has lost his waistline. Now, that couldn't have happened in a month. Queer I didn't notice it before. And he looks soft. Not enough exercise.”