Her eyes flashed up, and she smiled. “Well, yes, that’s true.” She paused a moment, considering him. “Would you like to stay for a cup of coffee?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Would you like to hang up your coat?” She indicated an overburdened coat tree that stood to his right, at the foot of a flight of stairs leading to the second floor.

“Nice place you have here,” he said, as he took off his coat and balanced it atop the mountain of girls’ coats that threatened to topple the stand. He then balanced his hat on top of his coat.

She laughed. “I’m sorry, we weren’t expecting company. Mrs. Hanson tries to get us to clean up after ourselves, but usually we only manage it about fifteen minutes before one of the girls has a date.”

“Well, it’s my fault for dropping over unannounced.”

“It was awfully kind of you to make a special trip just to return my glove,” she said. She turned; he followed her into the living room, which was the source of the warm lamplight he’d appreciated out on the front porch.

She bid him sit on the davenport and promised to be back in a moment with his coffee. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands tented in front of his chin, wondering if he was ridiculous or just felt that way; not caring. Listening to the clink of dishes from the kitchen at the back of the house, the murmur of feminine voices.

The room appeared to have been decorated forty years before, with patterned wallpaper and an abundance of lace doilies and bric-a-brac. But it was pleasant and cozy, with reading chairs on either side of the table lamp shining in the front window, a coffee table in front of the davenport on which he sat, a fireplace on the far wall. A piano was situated directly opposite, an oval mirror above it. He stood, walked over to the mirror and straightened his tie, checked his profile. He was sitting again, wondering how Mrs. Hanson enforced the absence of coed detritus in this room, when Anne came in, carrying a tray.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she said, negotiating her way through the furniture with the loaded tray. “When I told Mrs. Hanson you were the editor of the Gazette, she insisted on sending out some of her molasses cookies.” Anne set the tray down on the table in front of Harry.

“That’s awfully nice of her,” he said. “They look delicious.”