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There was a momentary silence, broken again, by Rose.
"Of course, you'll want to take a look at her for yourself, before you
decide," she said; "but I'm pretty sure you'll see it." She put a
cadence of finality into her voice. The business between them was over,
it said, and all she was waiting for was a word of dismissal, to nod
him a farewell and go swinging away down the avenue. Still he didn't
speak, and she moved a little restlessly. At last:--
"Do you mind crossing the street?" he asked abruptly. "Then we can talk
as we walk along." She must have hesitated, because he added, "It's too
cold to stand here."
"Of course," she said then. All that had made her hesitate was her
surprise over his having made a request instead of giving an order.
Galbraith turned her north on the vast empty east sidewalk--a highway in
itself broader than many a famous European street, and they walked a
little way in silence.
No observant Chicagoan, Rose reflected, need ever yearn for the wastes
of the Sahara when a desire for solitude or the need of privacy came
upon him.


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