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Conny had recounted to Isabelle on their way out some of the rumors about the Poles. Larry Pole was a weakling, had gone wrong in money matters, nothing that had flared up in scandal, merely family transactions. Margaret had taken the family abroad she had inherited something from her mother and suddenly they had come back to New York, and Larry had found a petty job in the city.
"There are some cigarettes in the other room," Margaret suggested; "we'll build up the fire and continue the argument in favor of the Windward Islands." "It is a long way to New York over that road," Conny observed. "I have an engagement." Now that she had satisfied her curiosity about "how the Poles lived," she began to think of her dinner with Cairy, and was fearful lest she might be delayed.
The doggy, faithful to the end, was buried in the garden, Conny, Cissy, and Liz attending his obsequies, and the two latter weeping with Teddy over his grave, for all were fond of Puck; but none lamented him so deeply as he, and all the journey up to town, as the train sped its weary way along, his mind was busy recalling all the incidents that attended their companionship from the time when his grandmother first gave him as a present.
She would comfort the inner sore, supply the lack. And for this moment, Conny was not selfish: she was thinking of her lover's needs, and how she could meet them. Thus the hour sped. "You love you love!" the man said again and again, to convince himself. Conny smiled disdainfully, as at the childish iteration of a child, but said nothing.
He wishes to meet you, he is a great favorite of the Woodyards, of Conny, I should say, Tom Cairy.... He was at college with your brother, I think. I will bring him over in the afternoon if you say so. He's amusing, Thomas; but I don't vouch for him. Good-by, girl." Isabelle watched Margaret Pole cross the light green of the lawn, walking leisurely, her head raised towards the mountains.
But Joanna was terribly vexed and provoked that she had exposed herself to this infliction, though she was fain to comfort herself with the argument that it would make no difference to papa's feelings; and she trusted that she and Conny would slip into the drawing-room when the guests were occupied, and subside into corners, and escape attention.
"Conny is at the studio," Betty said. "She was called there unexpectedly concerning something about her new picture." "Did she tell you anything before she left?" he asked. Betty laughed. "She told me everything," she replied. "And is she happy?" he asked. "Happier than I have ever seen her," Betty assured him. "I'll tell her that you called." "That I called and that I " he stopped himself.
They had not cared very much for "Conny" at St. Mary's, though she was a handsome girl then and had what was called "a good mind." There was something coarse in the detail of this large figure, the plentiful reddish hair, the strong, straight nose, all of which the girls of St. Mary's had interpreted their own way, and also the fact that she had come from Duluth, probably of "ordinary" people.
"I shouldn't object to anarchy," sighed Margaret, with her whimsical smile. "Margaret is bored," Isabelle pronounced, "simply awfully bored. She's so bored that I expect some day she will poison herself and the children, merely to find out what comes next." "No wonder buried in the snowdrifts out here," Conny agreed. "Isn't there anything you want to do, even something wicked?" "Yes," Mrs.
Mabel snapped out, "Where's the infant prodigy? Is she so stuck on herself already that she won't associate with us?" "You grown-up babies," mocked Burlingham. "I found her out there crying in darkness because she thought she'd failed. Now you go bring her in, Conny. As for the rest of you, I'm disgusted.
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