Mrs. Whitney and Myron were in her room. I could see her in the mirror just inside the door, but not him. She must have given him some signal, because his voice rose suddenly, expansively anecdotal with something about an Eastern ambassador. “. . . and I said, ‘Effendi——’ ”
He stopped so abruptly, seeing me, that I saw while he knew someone was coming he didn’t know it was to be his unwitting sponsor in the house. And it must have taken him all of a second to rally himself.
“Why, Grade!” he exclaimed cordially, and I hate to be called “Grade.” “How very nice!”
He came toward me and gave me an affectionate kiss on the cheek. I hadn’t, I guess, realized what close friends we were, and I don’t think Mrs. Whitney was fooled either.
“Yes, isn’t it Pleasant?” she said. “And didn’t you bring
