He read on till half-past eight; then he stood up and sauntered to the window.  The avenue below it was deserted; not a carriage or motor turned the corner around which he expected Undine to appear, and he looked idly in the opposite direction.  There too the perspective was nearly empty, so empty that he singled out, a dozen blocks away, the blazing lamps of a large touring-car that was bearing furiously down the avenue from Morningside.  As it drew nearer its speed slackened, and he saw it hug the curb and stop at his door.  By the light of the street lamp he recognized his wife as she sprang out and detected a familiar silhouette in her companion’s fur-coated figure.  Then the motor flew on and Undine ran up the steps.  Ralph went out on the landing.  He saw her coming up quickly, as if to reach her room unperceived; but when she caught sight of him she stopped, her head thrown back and the light falling on her blown hair and glowing face.

“Well?” she said, smiling up at him.

“They waited for you all the afternoon in Washington Square—­the boy never had his birthday,” he answered.

Her colour deepened, but she instantly rejoined:  “Why, what happened?  Why didn’t the nurse take him?”

“You said you were coming to fetch him, so she waited.”

“But I telephoned—­”

He said to himself:  “Is that the lie?” and answered:  “Where from?”

“Why, the studio, of course—­” She flung her cloak open, as if to attest her veracity.  “The sitting lasted longer than usual—­there was something about the dress he couldn’t get—­”

“But I thought he was giving a tea.”

“He had tea afterward; he always does.  And he asked some people in to see my portrait.  That detained me too.  I didn’t know they were coming, and when they turned up I couldn’t rush away.  It would have looked as if I didn’t like the picture.”  She paused and they gave each other a searching simultaneous glance.  “Who told you it was a tea?” she asked.

“Clare Van Degen.  I saw her at my mother’s.”

“So you weren’t unconsoled after all—!”

“The nurse didn’t get any message.  My people were awfully disappointed; and the poor boy has cried his eyes out.”

“Dear me!  What a fuss!  But I might have known my message wouldn’t be delivered.  Everything always happens to put me in the wrong with your family.”

With a little air of injured pride she started to go to her room; but he put out a hand to detain her.

“You’ve just come from the studio?”

“Yes.  It is awfully late?  I must go and dress.  We’re dining with the Ellings, you know.”

“I know...  How did you come?  In a cab?”

She faced him limpidly.  “No; I couldn’t find one that would bring me—­so Peter gave me a lift, like an angel.  I’m blown to bits.  He had his open car.”

Her colour was still high, and Ralph noticed that her lower lip twitched a little.  He had led her to the point they had reached solely to be able to say:  “If you’re straight from the studio, how was it that I saw you coming down from Morningside?”