She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. All I can say is, it's well meant; and I may add, I'd have made it five minutes ago, if you'd given me the opportunity. You will survive, mark my words. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. An audible crack sounded in the kitchen and Mark slumped backwards, unconscious. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end.
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