But a glance showed me that I was far surpassed. What I had done seemed
in comparison like the composition of a school-boy beside an essay by
Goldsmith or Hazlitt.
And in the midst of this quiet splendor sat, or rather lounged, Langdon,
reading the newspapers. He was dressed in a dark blue velvet house-suit
with facings and cords of blue silk a shade or so lighter than the suit. I
had always thought him handsome; he looked now like a god. He was smoking
a cigarette in an oriental holder nearly a foot long; but the air of
the room, so perfect was the ventilation, instead of being scented with
tobacco, had the odor of some fresh, clean, slightly saline perfume.
I think what was in my mind must have shown in my face, must have subtly
flattered him, for, when I looked at him, he was giving me a look of
genuine friendly kindliness. "This is--perfect, Langdon," said I. "And I
think I'm a judge."
"Glad you like it," said he, trying to dissemble his satisfaction in so
strongly impressing me.
"You must take me through your house sometime," I went on. "I'm going to
build soon. No--don't be afraid I'll imitate. I'm too vain for that. But I
want suggestions. I'm not ashamed to go to school to a master--to anybody,
for that matter.
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