When Stephanie was eighteen and Jim was a novelist of some promise he was able to discourse at length on women and their feminist business, their intrusion into men's affairs, and their fidgety dissatisfaction with a perfectly good civilization. But later, when he was desperately in love with Stephanie and she was bound to another man by the mockery of a trial marriage, he admitted frankly, "I don't understand women. I write about them."
oy. "I'm sure I'll have a good time."
At the vestibule he stepped aside, but the master bade him precede him.
And as the fair, slender boy passed out into the forward car, the breeze ruffling his blond hair, and his brown eyes still smiling with the anticipation of home coming, he passed Fate, Chance, and Destiny, whispering together in the corner of the platform. But the boy could not see them; could not know that they were discussing him.
AN average New York house on a side street in winter is a dark affair; daylight comes reluctantly and late into the city; the south side of a street catches the first winter sun rays when there are any; the north side remains shadowy and chilly.
Cleland Senior's old-fashioned house stood on the north side of 80th Street; and on the last morning of Cleland Junior's Christmas vacation, while the first bars of sunshine fell across the brown stone fa9ades on the opposite sid