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Amory, Son of Beatrice
"Hea-hemmedagainwithdelicatereticence,andcontinued:"Theyseemtothinkthatyou’re—ah—rathertoofresh—"
Amorycouldstandnomore.Herosefromhischair,scarcelycontrollinghisvoicewhenhespoke.
"Iknow—oh,don’tyous’poseIknow."Hisvoicerose."Iknowwhattheythink;doyous’poseyouhavetotellme!"Hepaused."I’m—I’vegottogobacknow—hopeI’mnotrude—"
Helefttheroomhurriedly.Inthecoolairoutside,ashewalkedtohishouse,heexultedinhisrefusaltobehelped.
"Thatdamnoldfool!"hecriedwildly."AsifIdidn’tknow!"
Hedecided,however,thatthiswasagoodexcusenottogobacktostudyhallthatnight,so,comfortablycouchedupinhisroom,hemunchedNabiscosandfinished"TheWhiteCompany."
INCIDENTOFTHEWONDERFULGIRL
TherewasabrightstarinFebruary.NewYorkburstuponhimonWashington’sBirthdaywiththebrillianceofalong-anticipatedevent.Hisglimpseofitasavividwhitenessagainstadeep-blueskyhadleftapictureofsplendorthatrivalledthedreamcitiesintheArabianNights;butthistimehesawitbyelectriclight,andromancegleamedfromthechariot-racesignonBroadwayandfromthewomen’seyesattheAstor,whereheandyoungPaskertfromSt.Regis’haddinner.Whentheywalkeddowntheaisleofthetheatre,greetedbythenervoustwanginganddiscordofuntunedviolinsandthesensuous,heavyfragranceofpaintandpowder,hemovedinasphereofepicureandelight.Everythingenchantedhim.