to 4:15 P.M. “Not again,” Pam North said. “This is getting to be ridiculous.” All the same, Dorian said, there was a man. There had been for several blocks. If he was not following them, it was a very interesting coincidence. He was a tall man, sauntering on a pleasant afternoon. But wherever they went, he sauntered after. “After all,” Pam said, “we’re walking down Madison Avenue. Lots of people do. Of course, we can always stop at a window.” She turned toward one, and said, “I’m getting sort of tired or looking in windows. Particularly such—” She had taken the opportunity to glance back up Madison. “For heaven’s sake,” she said. “Look hard, Dorian. It’s Mr. Sandford. He’s—” But then, smiling with evident pleasure, Mr. Sandford turned toward them. “Thought I saw someone familiar,” he said. “Said to myself, ‘Mrs. North.’ Been trying to catch up.” Pamela North said, “Oh.” She said that this was Miss Hunt. Everyone was delighted. But then Barton Sandford’s pleasure at the meeting seemed to drain away, and he became serious; worried.
