He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. Applying his ear to the keyhole, Jack listened, but could detect no sound. Most of all she enjoyed the gentle gratitude of her foster family members, even the teasing 7 of Mike, her foster brother, who liked to play food critic to give her a hard time.
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