He did not know that their moment of
perfect, unspoiled companionship had come and gone that evening in
the Plaza.
Every relation into which sentiment enters at all has its crisis
or turning-point, though it may pass unobserved. Perhaps they are
happiest who heed it least. Certainly, morbid self-analysis was
the last fault of which Kirk could be accused. If he had a rule of
action, it was simply to behave naturally, and, so far, experience
had justified him in the belief that behaving naturally always
brought him out right in the end.
He decided that he needed exercise, and determined to take a tramp
through the country; but on the evening before the day he had set
for his excursion his plans were upset by a note from Mrs.
Cortlandt, which the clerk handed him. It ran:
DEAR KIRK,--Stephen has arranged an outing for all three of us,
and we are counting on you for to-morrow. It will be a really,
truly picnic, with all the delightful discomforts of such affairs.
You are not to know where we are going until we call for you at
eight.
Faithfully and mysteriously yours, EDITH CORTLANDT.
The recipient of this kind invitation tossed it aside with a
gesture of impatience. For the moment he experienced a kind of
boyish resentment at having his intentions thwarted that seemed
out of proportion to the cause.
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