Howat Penny swore
silently at his increasing softness, his betrayal by his years. Yet it
might be a good thing for her to see the Polder family assembled,
Byron--he was a pretentious looking fool--at one end of the table and
Delia Mullen Polder at the other. There were more children, too. But if
it became necessary, heaven knew how he would explain all this to
Charlotte. "I believe," he said, apparently innocently, "that they live
in the north end of the city."
"It won't damage you," she replied indirectly. Already, he thought with
poignant regret, a part of the old Mariana had gone; her voice was
older, darker with maturity.
XXVI
Howat Penny arrived in town late on the day when he was to dine with
Mariana at the Polders. He entered a taxicab, and was carried smoothly
through the thick, hot air; open electric cars, ladened with damp,
pallid salespeople, passed with a harsh ringing; and the foliage in
Rittenhouse Square hung dusty and limp and still. The houses beyond, on
Nineteenth Street, where the Jannans' winter dwelling stood, were closed
and blankly boarded. The small, provisional entrance before which he
stopped opened, and a servant, out of livery, appeared. "Shall I tell
the driver to return, sir?" he queried; "the telephone is disconnected.
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