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After half an hour of trying to visualize a duke writing a letter he produced this: LADY ISTRA NASH, Mouse Castle. DEAR MADAM, We hear from our friend Sir William Wrenn that some folks are saying that to-day is not your birthday & want to stop your celebration, so if you should need somebody to make them believe to-day is your birthday we have sent our secretary, Sir Percival Montague.
Istra wanted me to name my new monoplane Babette, because she says it looks "cunning" which the Lord knows it don't, it may look efficient but not cunning. But I don't think I'll name it anything, tho she says that shows lack of imagination. People especially reporters are always asking me this question, do aviators have imagination? I'm not sure I know what imagination is.
Yes-s, admitted Istra, a little grudgingly, she was going to be at the studio that evening, though she well, there was going to be a little party some friends but yes, she'd be glad to have him come. Grimly, Mr. Wrenn set out for Washington Square. Since this scientific treatise has so exhaustively examined Mr. Arty's, for all its pretension to superiority.
"She doesn't seem to care much," he reflected, relieved and stabbed in his humble vanity and reattracted to Nelly, all at once. He was anxious about her opinion of Istra and her opinion of himself, and slightly defiant, as she continued to regard him as a respectable person whose name she couldn't exactly remember. Hadn't he the right to love Istra if he wanted to? he desired to know of himself.
"But please, sir," said the girl, with immense gravity, "mayn't I let him die, and not find out what's ailing him, so I can marry the maire?" "Nope," firmly, "you got to Say, gee! I didn't expect to tell you all this make-b'lieve.... I'm afraid you'll think it's awful fresh of me." "Oh, I loved it really I did because you liked to make it up about poor Istra.
and, softly crawling up the straw, left the note by her head. He hastened to a farm-house. The farm-wife was inclined to be curious. O curious farm-wife, you of the cream-thick Essex speech and the shuffling feet, you were brave indeed to face Bill Wrenn the Great, with his curt self-possession, for he was on a mission for Istra, and he cared not for the goggling eyes of all England.
He got away from them only long enough to rejoice that somehow he didn't know how he was going to be her most intimate friend, because they were both Americans in a strange land and because they both could make-believe. Then he was proving that Istra would, and would not, be the perfect comrade among women when some one knocked at his door.
Wrenn. And Nelly: "That's so." The whole table nodded gravely, "Yes, that's so." "I'm sure" Istra smiled at Mrs. Arty "that it's because a woman is running things. Now think what cat-and-dog lives you'd lead if Mr. Wrenn or Mr. Popple, was it? were ruling." They applauded. They felt that she had been humorous.
Suddenly she gave his hand a parting pressure and sprang up. "Come. We'll have tiffin, and then I'll send you away, and to-morrow we'll go see the Tate Gallery." While Istra was sending the slavey for cakes and a pint of light wine Mr. Wrenn sat in a chair just sat in it; he wanted to show that he could be dignified and not take advantage of Miss Nash's kindness by slouchin' round.
He longed to give his whole self in his answer, to be in the absolute community of thought that lovers know. But the image of Istra was behind his chair. Istra he had to see her now, this evening. He rushed out to the corner drug-store and reached her by telephone.
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