VOne Sunday morning Eden was crossing the Square with a spruce young man in a white flannel suit and a panama hat. They had been breakfasting at the Brevoort and he was coaxing her to let him come up to her rooms and sing for an hour.
"No, I've got to write letters. You must run along now. I see a friend of mine over there, and I want to ask him about something before I go up."
"That fellow with the dog? Where did you pick him up?" the young man glanced toward the seat under a sycamore where Hedger was reading the morning paper.
"Oh, he's an old friend from the West," said Eden easily. "I won't introduce you, because he doesn't like people. He's a recluse. Good–bye. I can't be sure about Tuesday. I'll go with you if I have time after my lesson." She nodded, left him, and went over to th
