She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. Everything. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. Then, there's Mr.
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