often are who have grown gray
before their time.

Fanny stood up, hurriedly. "I was just about to go."

"Try the grape pie, dear. It's delicious." And strolled off down the
aisle that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead.

Fanny stood for a moment looking after her, as though meaning to call
her back. But she must have changed her mind, because she said, "Oh,
nonsense!" aloud. And went across to lunch. And ordered grape pie. And
enjoyed it.

CHAPTER TEN

The invitation to tea came in due time from Mrs. Fenger. A thin,
querulous voice over the telephone prepared one for the thin, querulous
Mrs. Fenger herself. A sallow, plaintive woman, with a misbehaving
valve. The valve, she confided to Fanny, made any effort dangerous. Also
it made her susceptible to draughts. She wore over her shoulders a scarf
that was constantly slipping and constantly being retrieved by Michael
Fenger. The sight of this man, a physical and mental giant, performing
this task ever so gently and patiently, sent a little pang of pity
through Fanny, as Michael Fenger knew it would. The Fengers lived in
an apartment on the Lake Shore Drive--an apartment such as only Chicago
boasts. A view straight across the lake, rooms huge and many-windowed,
a glass-enclosed sun-porch gay with chintz and wicker, an incredible
number of bathrooms. The guests, besides Fanny, included a young pair,
newly married and interested solely in rents, hangings, linen closets,
and the superiority of the Florentine over the Jacobean for dining
room purposes; and a very scrubbed looking, handsome, spectacled man of
thirty-two or three who was a mechanical engineer. Fanny failed to
catch his name, though she learned it later. Privately, she dubbed him
Fascinating Facts, and he always remained that. His conversation was
invariably prefaced with, "Funny thing happened down at the works
to-day." The rest of it sounded like something one reads at the foot of
each page of a loose-leaf desk calendar.

At tea there was a great deal of silver, and lace, but Fanny thought
she could have improved on the chicken a la king. It lacked paprika and
personality. Mrs. Fenger was constantly directing one or the other of
the neat maids in an irritating aside.

After tea Michael Fenger showed Fanny his pictures, not boastfully, but
as one who loves them reveals his treasures to an appreciative friend.
He showed her his library, too, and it was the library of a reader.
Fanny nibbled at it,