and be hungry, she was to eat "the
pudding and the chicken stew, and get herself a good supper."

Norma, chuckling a little, got herself the good supper instead. It was
with a delightful sense of solitude and irresponsibility that she sat
eating it, at the only window in the flat that possessed a good view,
the kitchen window. Aunt Kate, she decided, was with Rose, who had no
telephone; Norma thought that she would wait until Aunt Kate got home
the next day, rather than chance the long trip to the Oranges again. An
alternative would have been to go to Aunt Annie's house, but somehow the
thought of the big, silent handsome place, with the men in evening wear,
Aunt Annie and Leslie in just the correct mourning decollete, and the
conversation decorously funereal, did not appeal to her. Instead it
seemed a real adventure to dine alone, and after dinner to put on a
less conspicuous hat and coat, and slip out into the streets, and walk
about in her new-found freedom.

The night was soft and balmy, and the sidewalks filled with sauntering
groups enjoying the first delicious promise of summer as much as Norma
did. The winter had been long and cold and snowy; great masses of
thawing ice from far-away rivers were slowly drifting down the
star-lighted surface of the Hudson, and the trees were still bare. But
the air was warm, and the breezes lifted and stirred the tender darkness
above her head with a summery sweetness.

Norma loved all the world to-night; the work-tired world that was
revelling in idleness and fresh air. Romance seemed all about her, the
doorways into which children reluctantly vanished, the gossiping women
coming back from bakery or market, the candy stores flooded with light,
and crowded with young people who were having the brightest and most
thrilling moments of all their lives over banana specials and chocolate
sundaes. The usual whirlpools eddied about the subway openings and
moving-picture houses, the usual lovers locked arms, in the high rocking
darkness of the omnibus tops, and looked down in apathetic indifference
upon the disappointment of other lovers at the crossings. In the bright
windows of dairy restaurants grapefruit were piled, and big baked apples
ranged in saucers, and beyond there were hungry men leaning far over the
table while they discussed doughnuts and strong coffee, and shook open
evening papers.

She and Wolf had studied it all for years; it was sordid and crowded and
cheap, perha