In short, Nora had spoken truthfully. She had seen a man dressed in white

flannels and canvas shoes, but her eyes had not traveled so far as his

face.

"Mother, we must have some of those silk blankets. They're so comfy to lie

on."

"You never see anything except when you want to," complained Mrs.

Harrigan.

"It saves a deal of trouble. I don't want to go to the colonel's this

afternoon. He always has some frump to pour tea and ask fool questions."

"The frump, as you call her, is usually a countess or a duchess," with

asperity.

"Fiddlesticks! Nobility makes a specialty of frumps; it is one of the

species of the caste. That's why I shall never marry a title. I wish

neither to visit nor to entertain frumps. Frump,--the word calls up the

exact picture; frump and fatuity. Oh, I'll go, but I'd rather stay on my

balcony and read a good book."

"My dear," patiently, "the colonel is one of the social laws on Como. His

sister is the wife of an earl. You must not offend him. His Sundays are

the most exclusive on the lake."

"The word exclusive should be properly applied to those in jail. The

social ladder, the social ladder! Don't you know, mother mine, that every

rung is sawn by envy and greed, and that those who climb highest fall

farthest?"

"You are quoting the padre."

"The padre could give lessons in kindness and shrewdness to any other man

I know. If he hadn't chosen the gown he would have been a poet. I love the

padre, with his snow-white hair and his withered leathery face. He was

with the old king all through the freeing of Italy."

"And had a fine time explaining to the Vatican," sniffed the mother.

"Some day I am going to confess to him."

"Confess what?" asked Celeste.

"That I have wished the Calabrian's voice would fail her some night in

Carmen; that I am wearing shoes a size too small for me; that I should

like to be rich without labor; that I am sometimes ashamed of my calling;

that I should have liked to see father win a prizefight; oh, and a

thousand other horrid, hateful things."

"I wish to gracious that you would fall violently in love."

"Spiteful! There are those lovely lace collars; come on."

"You are hopeless," was the mother's conviction.

"In some things, yes," gravely.

"Some day," said Celeste, who was a privileged person in the Harrigan

family, "some day I am going to teach you two how to play at foils. It

would be splendid. And then you could always settle your differences with

bouts."

"Better than that," retorted Nora. "I'll ask father to lend us his old set

of gloves. He carries them around as if they were a fetish. I believe

they're in the bottom of one of my steamer trunks."




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024