“And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. But if he starts a long jog, his name is Dennis. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering.
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