Dallas looked at him again, and then, with an incredulous gesture,
passed out of sight under the vaulted doorway.
Archer sat down on the bench and continued to gaze at the awninged
balcony. He calculated the time it would take his son to be carried up
in the lift to the fifth floor, to ring the bell, and be admitted to
the hall, and then ushered into the drawing-room. He pictured Dallas
entering that room with his quick assured step and his delightful
smile, and wondered if the people were right who said that his boy
"took after him."
Then he tried to see the persons already in the room--for probably at
that sociable hour there would be more than one--and among them a dark
lady, pale and dark, who would look up quickly, half rise, and hold out
a long thin hand with three rings on it.... He thought she would be
sitting in a sofa-corner near the fire, with azaleas banked behind her
on a table.
"It's more real to me here than if I went up," he suddenly heard
himself say; and the fear lest that last shadow of reality should lose
its edge kept him rooted to his seat as the minutes succeeded each
other.
He sat for a long time on the bench in the thickening dusk, his eyes
never turning from the balcony. At length a light shone through the
windows, and a moment later a man-servant came out on the balcony, drew
up the awnings, and closed the shutters.
At that, as if it had been the signal he waited for, Newland Archer got
up slowly and walked back alone to his hotel.