The S.S. _Hesperiida_ was
due at ten next morning.
It was an evening of frightened confusion. He tottered along
Lexington Avenue on a furtive walk. He knew only that he was
very fond of Nelly, yet pantingly eager to see Istra. He damned
himself--"damned" is literal--every other minute for a cad, a
double-faced traitor, and all the other horrifying things a man
is likely to declare himself to be for making the discovery that
two women may be different and yet equally likable. And every
other minute he reveled in an adventurous gladness that he was
going to see Istra--actually, incredibly going to see her, just
the next day! He returned to find Nelly sitting on the steps of
Mrs. Arty's.
"Hello."
"Hello."
Both good sound observations, and all they could say for a time,
while Mr. Wrenn examined the under side of the iron steps rail
minutely.
"Billy--was it something serious, the telegram?"
"No, it was--Miss Nash, the artist I told you about, asked me
to meet her at the boat. I suppose she wants me to help her
with her baggage and the customs and all them things.
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