“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic importunity. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. It was a capital diversion; and as usual the Leatherneck bested the Britisher, in seven rounds.
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