Or perhaps my father once. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. Some one was standing beside him. “Are you in the Service?” She asked him. You understand. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. ” It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out before, never watched him critically as an equal. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table.
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