"
"We'll never see them again, our 'Matrimonial Objects,'" said
Blix, "and they'll never know about us; but we have brought them
together. We've started a romance. Yes, I think we've done a
good day's work. And now, Condy, I think we had best be thinking
of home ourselves. I'm just beginning to get most awfully sleepy.
What a day we've had!"
A sea fog, or rather THE sea fog--San Francisco's old and
inseparable companion--had gathered by the time they reached the
top of the Washington Street hill. Everything was wet with it.
The asphalt was like varnished ebony. Indistinct masses and huge
dim shadows stood for the houses on either side. From the
eucalyptus trees and the palms the water dripped like rain. Far
off oceanward, the fog-horn was lowing like a lost gigantic bull.
The gray bulk of a policeman--the light from the street lamp
reflected in his star--loomed up on the corner as they descended
from the car.
* * * * * * * * * *
Condy had intended to call his diver's story "A Submarine
Romance," but Blix had disapproved.
"It's too 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,'" she had said.
"You want something much more dignified. There is that about you,
Condy, you like to be too showy; you don't know when to stop. But
you have left off red-and-white scarfs, and I am very glad to see
you wearing white shirt-fronts instead of pink ones."
"Yes, yes, I thought it would be quieter," he had answered, as
though the idea had come from him.
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