'"
"Oh, say, gee, I didn't mean to--When you been so nice and
all to me--"
"Don't apologize!" Istra Nash demanded, savagely. "Haven't they
taught you that?"
"Yes'm," he mumbled, apologetically.
She sat silent again, apparently not at all satisfied with the
architecture of the opposite side of Tavistock Place.
Diffidently he edged into speech:
"Honest, I did think you was English. You came from California?
Oh, say, I wonder if you've ever heard of Dr. Mittyford. He's
some kind of school-teacher. I think he teaches in Leland
Stamford College."
"Leland Stanford? You know him?" She dropped into interested
familiarity.
"I met him at Oxford."
"Really?... My brother was at Stanford. I think I've heard him
speak of--Oh yes. He said that Mittyford was a cultural
climber, if you know what I mean; rather--oh, how shall I
express it?--oh, shall we put it, finicky about things people
have just told him to be finicky about."
"Yes!" glowed Mr. Wrenn.
To the luxury of feeling that he knew the unusual Miss Istra
Nash he sacrificed Dr.
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