Wrenn gasping.
Olympia depended on Carson Haggerty for most of the "Yes, that's
so's," though he seemed to be trying to steal glances at another
woman, a young woman, a lazy smiling pretty girl of twenty, who,
Istra told Mr. Wrenn, studied Greek archaeology at the Museum.
No one knew why she studied it. She seemed peacefully ignorant
of everything but her kissable lips, and she adorably poked at
things with lazy graceful fingers, and talked the Little
Language to Carson Haggerty, at which Olympia shrugged her
shoulders and turned to the others.
There were a Mr. and Mrs. Stettinius--she a poet; he a bleached
man, with goatish whiskers and a sanctimonious white neck-cloth,
who was Puritanically, ethically, gloomily, religiously
atheistic. Items in the room were a young man who taught in Mr.
Jeney's Select School and an Established Church mission worker
from Whitechapel, who loved to be shocked.
It was Mr. Wrenn who was really shocked, however, not by the
noise and odor; not by the smoking of the women; not by the
demand that "we" tear down the state; no, not by these was Our
Mr.
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