"It's the customary thing in
Peru," she observed, pinching the end from the cigar and lighting it. He
watched her absently, veiled in the fragrant, bluish smoke.
Automatically his thoughts returned to the women that, at a breath of
scandal, had refused to attend the dinner to Patti. So much changed; the
years fled like birds in a mist.
"I feel like a politician," she told him. "Eliza Provost would pat me on
the back. She's talking from a soap box on the street corners now,
winging men for such trifles as forced birth. I'm fond of Eliza; she's
got a splendid crust. I wish you'd get excited about my rights; but your
interest really goes no further than a hat from Camille Marchais. You
are deleterious, Howat. Isn't that a lovely word! Which was the first
double?" He blocked and won the game. "Fifty-five," she announced; "and
ninety-five before. I owe you a dollar and a half."
She paid the debt promptly from a flexible gold mesh bag on the table;
then stooped and wandered among his books. Howat Penny turned to
yesterday's _Evening Post_, and Mariana settled beyond the lamp. Outside
the locusts were desperately shrill, and the heavy ticking of an old
clock grew audible. "I don't like George Moore!" she exclaimed. He
raised surprised, inquiring eyebrows.
Pages:
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307