With quiet
insistence she dragged Istra into a discussion of rue de la Paix
fashions which nearly united the shattered table and won Mr.
Wrenn's palpitating thankfulness.
After dessert Istra slowly drew a plain gold cigarette-case from
a brocade bag of silvery gray. She took out a match and a thin
Russian cigarette, which she carefully lighted. She sat smoking
in one of her best attitudes, pointed elbows on the table,
coolly contemplating a huge picture called "Hunting the Stag"
on the wall behind Mr. Wrenn.
Mrs. Arty snapped to the servant, "Annie, bring me _my_ cigarettes."
But Mrs. Arty always was penitent when she had been nasty,
and--though Istra did not at once seem to know that the
landlady _had_ been nasty--Mrs. Arty invited her up to the parlor
for after-dinner so cordially that Istra could but grant
"Perhaps I will," and she even went so far as to say, "I think
you're all to be envied, having such a happy family."
"Yes, that's so," reflected Mrs. Arty.
"Yes," added Mr. Wrenn.
And Nelly: "That's so.
Pages:
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379