"
There was in her room a wonderful being lolling in a wing-chair,
one leg over the chair-arm; a young young man, with broken brown
teeth, always seen in his perpetual grin, but a godlike Grecian
nose, a high forehead, and bristly yellow hair. The being wore
large round tortoise-shell spectacles, a soft shirt with a
gold-plated collar-pin, and delicately gray garments.
Istra was curled on the bed in a leaf-green silk kimono with a
great gold-mounted medallion pinned at her breast. Mr. Wrenn
tried not to be shocked at the kimono.
She had been frowning as he came in and fingering a long thin
green book of verses, but she glowed at Mr. Wrenn as though he
were her most familiar friend, murmuring, "Mouse dear, I'm _so_
glad you could come in."
Mr. Wrenn stood there awkwardly. He hadn't expected to find
another visitor. He seemed to have heard her call him "Mouse."
Yes, but what did Mouse mean? It wasn't his name at all. This
was all very confusing. But how awful glad she was to see him!
"Mouse dear, this is one of our best little indecent poets, Mr.
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