” She turned herself to one side and propped her head in her hand. " "What!" she exclaimed, staring eagerly in his face. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. “Then you—you will?” A long pause. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. “Please not now. “If you speak—farewell. "You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. Take your pick, Mrs. Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye.
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