Don't you want me to show you some
of the buildings here?"
"Oh _yes!_"
"If Mrs. Stettinius can spare you!"
This by way of remarking on the fact that the female poet was
staring volubly.
"G-g-g-g-g-g--" said Mrs. Stettinius, which seemed to imply
perfect consent.
Istra took him to the belvedere on a little slope overlooking
the lawns of Aengusmere, scattered with low bungalows and
rose-gardens.
"It is beautiful, isn't it? Perhaps one could be happy here--if
one could kill all the people except the architect," she mused.
"Oh, it is," he glowed.
Standing there beside her, happiness enveloping them, looking
across the marvelous sward, Bill Wrenn was at the climax of his
comedy of triumph. Admitted to a world of lawns and bungalows
and big studio windows, standing in a belvedere beside Istra
Nash as her friend--
"Mouse dear," she said, hesitatingly, "the reason why I wanted
to have you come out here, why I couldn't sleep, I wanted to
tell you how ashamed I am for having been peevish, being
petulant, last night.
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