I am on my way to an aunt who lives in Hartford, Connecticut. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. The business of serving gave Gerald a few moment’s grace, for he was dubious about the effect on an elderly female, not in the best of health, of raking up old memories. But now that this bar is removed, I trust I may, without impropriety, urge it. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years.
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