It seemed to Cowperwood, to say the least, that Stephanie was leading a rather free and inconsequential existence, and yet it reflected her exactly--the color of her soul.
But he began to doubt and wonder.
"Where were you, Stephanie, yesterday ?" he would ask, when they met for lunch, or in the evenings early, or when she called at his new offices on the North Side, as she sometimes did to walk or drive with him.
"Oh, yesterday morning I was at Lane Cross's studio trying on some of his Indian shawls and veils.

He has such a lot of those things--some of the loveliest oranges and blues.

You just ought to see me in them.
I wish you might." "Alone ?" "For a while.

I thought Ethel Tuckerman and Bliss Bridge would be there, but they didn't come until later.

Lane Cross is such a dear.
He's sort of silly at times, but I like him.