pitcher of iced tea lined with sprigs of mint. A breeze rustled the girls’ dresses. A man approached and stood before them stiffly, in formal relief against the billowing lawns. He seemed older than Emma by a decade, in his midforties, firmly built, with dark skin and a firm musculature, his black hair carefully groomed and oiled. He tipped his hat.
“How do you do. May I introduce myself?” He bowed and presented a spray of violets wrapped in yellow tissue, purchased at the hotel concession, and offered the bouquet to Emma. “I am Dr. Harvey Burdell.”
She lifted her hand to accept, squinting to see him clearly against the sun. “For me? Why, thank you!” she trilled, offering her hand. “I am Emma Cunningham, and these are my daughters, Augusta and Helen.” He made another bow in the direction of the girls.
“Good morning, Dr. Burdell,” intoned Augusta and Helen with a schoolgirl’s training, tinged with boredom. Helen was eating a berry tart and wiped the stains from her lips. Augusta faded into the landscape in a blue gingham smock and fawn-colored gloves.
“Please, sit down,” Emma said gaily, waving at a bench. Dr. Burdell sat and placed his hat beside him. She noticed that it was a fashionable height: an inch higher and he would be a dandy or a ruffian, an inch shorter, a clerk.
“Are you having a pleasant start to this agreeable morning?” he asked awkwardly, as if he were grasping for an appropriate phrase to describe the shimmering day.
“It couldn’t be more splendid!” said Emma. “There are such marvelously cool breezes. Do you stay here often?”
“I come to the Congress Hall Hotel every year. I have a dentalpractice in New York and I try to get away during the summer months, if I can.” He pulled at his collar, which chafed, leaving a red rash.
“Are you the dentist on Union Square?” she inquired, recognizing the name from advertisements.
“My brother, also a dentist, had an office on Union Square. He is now deceased. My office is at 31 Bond Street, where I also live.”
“Bond Street! My favorite shops are near Bond Street!” She calculated to reveal little of herself, except, perhaps, that she appreciated fine things.
“I live there with my housekeeper,” he said earnestly. “I am ready to sell my house, but the commercial rents near Broadway have risen dramatically. The prices just keep going up.” He blinked often. He had told her much: that he was an awkward man, that he was a bachelor, and that he was rich. “I gather you are from New York?” he asked, glancing at the girls.
“My departed husband,” interjected Emma, fluttering a fan across her chest, “had a mansion in Brooklyn—on Jay Street. His illness carried so many unfortunate memories that I chose to sell it after his death.”
“I am so sorry,” Dr. Burdell replied, gravely.
“I am looking to buy a townhouse,” she continued. “I now lease a house on Twenty-fourth Street near the London Terrace. It is so difficult nowadays to find a suitable address.”
“You would be foolish to part with your money in haste. Homes in the fashionable districts in Manhattan are much overpriced.” Dr. Burdell continued, “Opportunities abound in the outlying areas.” He dropped his voice, as if this fact was a secret, known only to insiders, and he winked, in a silly way. He had a strong jaw, a full head of black hair, a sturdy build, and intense dark eyes.
“I wish I had someone as wise as you to advise me.” Emma sighed.
He appeared to be flattered by the compliment. Flustered, he patted his hands on the thighs of his dark trousers and stood, lifting his hat, ready to retreat. “Do you bet on horses?” he asked quickly. “Would you and your daughters do me the honor of joining me for a day at the racetrack?”
“We would be delighted,” murmured Emma, letting her eyes convey her pleasure.
Dr. Burdell accompanied Emma and her daughters to the races, where the women paraded with parasols
“How do you do. May I introduce myself?” He bowed and presented a spray of violets wrapped in yellow tissue, purchased at the hotel concession, and offered the bouquet to Emma. “I am Dr. Harvey Burdell.”
She lifted her hand to accept, squinting to see him clearly against the sun. “For me? Why, thank you!” she trilled, offering her hand. “I am Emma Cunningham, and these are my daughters, Augusta and Helen.” He made another bow in the direction of the girls.
“Good morning, Dr. Burdell,” intoned Augusta and Helen with a schoolgirl’s training, tinged with boredom. Helen was eating a berry tart and wiped the stains from her lips. Augusta faded into the landscape in a blue gingham smock and fawn-colored gloves.
“Please, sit down,” Emma said gaily, waving at a bench. Dr. Burdell sat and placed his hat beside him. She noticed that it was a fashionable height: an inch higher and he would be a dandy or a ruffian, an inch shorter, a clerk.
“Are you having a pleasant start to this agreeable morning?” he asked awkwardly, as if he were grasping for an appropriate phrase to describe the shimmering day.
“It couldn’t be more splendid!” said Emma. “There are such marvelously cool breezes. Do you stay here often?”
“I come to the Congress Hall Hotel every year. I have a dentalpractice in New York and I try to get away during the summer months, if I can.” He pulled at his collar, which chafed, leaving a red rash.
“Are you the dentist on Union Square?” she inquired, recognizing the name from advertisements.
“My brother, also a dentist, had an office on Union Square. He is now deceased. My office is at 31 Bond Street, where I also live.”
“Bond Street! My favorite shops are near Bond Street!” She calculated to reveal little of herself, except, perhaps, that she appreciated fine things.
“I live there with my housekeeper,” he said earnestly. “I am ready to sell my house, but the commercial rents near Broadway have risen dramatically. The prices just keep going up.” He blinked often. He had told her much: that he was an awkward man, that he was a bachelor, and that he was rich. “I gather you are from New York?” he asked, glancing at the girls.
“My departed husband,” interjected Emma, fluttering a fan across her chest, “had a mansion in Brooklyn—on Jay Street. His illness carried so many unfortunate memories that I chose to sell it after his death.”
“I am so sorry,” Dr. Burdell replied, gravely.
“I am looking to buy a townhouse,” she continued. “I now lease a house on Twenty-fourth Street near the London Terrace. It is so difficult nowadays to find a suitable address.”
“You would be foolish to part with your money in haste. Homes in the fashionable districts in Manhattan are much overpriced.” Dr. Burdell continued, “Opportunities abound in the outlying areas.” He dropped his voice, as if this fact was a secret, known only to insiders, and he winked, in a silly way. He had a strong jaw, a full head of black hair, a sturdy build, and intense dark eyes.
“I wish I had someone as wise as you to advise me.” Emma sighed.
He appeared to be flattered by the compliment. Flustered, he patted his hands on the thighs of his dark trousers and stood, lifting his hat, ready to retreat. “Do you bet on horses?” he asked quickly. “Would you and your daughters do me the honor of joining me for a day at the racetrack?”
“We would be delighted,” murmured Emma, letting her eyes convey her pleasure.
Dr. Burdell accompanied Emma and her daughters to the races, where the women paraded with parasols
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