returned to school for the winter term, Anne was invited to yet another dinner for four. Milly confessed she had never met her other guest, Henry Osborne, but that they thought he had been at Harvard at the same time as John.
'Actually,' confessed Milly over the phone, 'John doesn't know much about him, darling, except that he is rather good - looking!
On that score, John's opinion was verified by Anne and Milly. Henry Osborne was warming himself by the fire when Anne arrived and he rose immediately to allow Milly to introduce them. A shade over six feet, with dark eyes, almost black, and straight black hair, he was slim and athletic looking. Anne felt a quick flash of pleasure that she was paired for the evening, with this energetic and youthful man, while Milly had to content herself with a husband, who was showing signs of middle - age by comparison with his dashing college contemporary. Henry Osborne's arm was in a sling, almost completely covering his Harvard tie.
'A war wound?' asked Anne sympathetically.
'No, I fell down the stairs the week after I got back from the Western Front,' he said, laughing.
It was one of those dinners, lately so rare for Anne, at which the time at the table slipped by happily and unaccountably. Henry Osborne answered all Anne's inquisitive questions. After leaving Harvard, he had worked for a real estate management firm in Chicago, his home town, but when the war came he couldn't resist having a go at the Germans. He had a fund of splendid stories about Europe and the life he had led there as a young lieutenant preserving the honour of America on the Marne. Milly and John had not seen Anne laugh so much since Richard's death and sriiiled at one another knowingly when Henry asked if he might drive her home.
'What are you going to do now that you've come back to a land fit for heroes?' asked Anne, as Henry Osborne eased his Stutz out on to Charles Street.
'Haven't really decided,' he replied. 'Luckily, I have a little money of my own, so I don't have to rush into anything. Might even start my own real estate firm right here in Boston. I've always felt at home in the city since my days at Harvard.'
'You won't be returning to Chicago, then?'
'No, there's nothing to take me back there. My parents are both dead, and I was an only child, so I can start afresh anywhere I choose. Where do I turn? 'Oh, first on the right,' said Anne.
'You live on Beacon Hill 'Yes, About a hundred and fifty yards on the right hand side up Chestnut and ies the red house on the comer of Louisburg Square - '
Henry Osborne parked the car and accompanied Anne to the front door of her home. After saying goodnight, he was gone almost before she had time to thank him. She watched his car glide slowly back down Beacon Hill knowing that she wanted to see him again. She was delighted, though not entirely surprised, when he telephoned her the following morning.
Toston Symphony Orchestra, Mozart, and that flamboyant new fellow, Mahler, next Monday - can I persuade you?'
Anne was a little taken aback by the extent to which she looked forward to Monday. It seemed so long since a man whom she found attractive had pursued her. Henry Osborne arrived punctually for the outing, they shook hands rather awkwardly, and he, accepted a Scotch bighbalL 'It must be pleasant to live on Louisburg Square. You're a lucky girl.'
'Yes, I suppose so, I've never really given it much thought. I was born and raised on Commonwealth Avenue. If anything, I find this slightly cramped!
'I think I might buy a house on the Hill myself if I do decide to settle in Boston.1 q1ey don't come on the market all that often,' said Anne, 'but you may be lucky. Hadn't we better be going? I hate being late for a concert and having to tread on other people's toes to reach my scat.'
Henry glanced at his watch. Tes I agree, wouldn't do to miss the conductor's entrance, but you don't have to worry about anyone's feet except mine. We're on the aisle!
The cascades of sumptuous music made it natural for Henry to take Anne's arm as they walked to the Ritz. The only other person who had done that since Richard's death had been William, and only after considerable persuasion as he considered it sissy. Once