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Updated: September 16, 2025
He blushed. He furiously buttered his bread as Mrs. Arty remarked to the assemblage: "Ladies and gentlemen, I want you all to meet Miss Istra Nash. Miss Nash you've met Mr. Wrenn; Miss Nelly Croubel, our baby; Tom Poppins, the great Five-Hundred player; Mrs. Ebbitt, Mr. Ebbitt, Miss Proudfoot."
She'll introduce you to the rest." He sat down, wondering why the deuce he'd stood up, and unhappily realized that Nelly was examining Istra and himself with cool hostility. In a flurry he glowered at Istra as she nonchalantly sat down opposite him, beside Mrs. Arty, and incuriously unfolded her napkin. He thought that in her cheerful face there was an expression of devilish amusement.
Why, a lot of the pictures weren't framed! And you should have seen the giltness and fruit-borderness of the frames at Mrs. Arty's! Wrenn was now a man of friends, and if the "blooming Bohemians," as he called them, didn't like him they were permitted to go to the dickens. Istra was always across the room from him somehow. He found himself glad. It made their parting definite.
He put off the luxury of opening the letter till after the rites of brushing his teeth, putting on his slippers, pounding his rocking-chair cushion into softness. Panting with the joy to come, he stared out of the window at a giant and glorious figure of Istra the laughing Istra of breakfast camp-fire which towered from the street below.
But Istra seemed to have lost interest; and he didn't in the least follow her when she observed: "Doubtless it was the best butter. But where, where, dear dormouse, are the hatter and hare? Especially the sweet bunny rabbit that wriggled his ears and loved Gralice, the princesse d' outre-mer. "Where, where are the hatter and hare, And where is the best butter gone?" Presently: "Come on.
And different.... Thatched houses!... And pretty soon it'll be dawn, summer dawn; with you, with Istra! Gee! It's the darndest adventure." "Yes.... Come on. Let's walk fast or we'll get sleepy, and then your romantic heroine will be a grouchy Interesting People!... Listen! There's a sleepy dog barking, a million miles away.... I feel like telling you about myself. You don't know me. Or do you?"
"See here, Istra, please, I think I'd better go see if I can't find a house for you to get dry in." "I feel too wretched to go any place. Too wretched to move." "Well, then, I'll make a fire here. There ain't much danger." "The place will catch fire," she began, querulously. But he interrupted her. "Oh, let the darn place catch fire! I'm going to make a fire, I tell you!" "I don't want to move.
While he was leaving the studio building he had perfectly seen himself as one who was about to go through a tumultuous agony, after which he would be free of all the desire for Istra and ready to serve Nelly sincerely and humbly. But he found that the agony was all over. Even to save his dignity as one who was being dramatic, he couldn't keep his thoughts on Istra.
A morning of planning his conduct so that in accompanying Istra Nash to the Tate Gallery he might be the faithful shadow and beautiful transcript of Mittyford, Ph.D. As a result, when he stood before the large canvases of Mr.
He sighed joyously and read: Mouse dear, just a word to let you know I haven't forgotten you and am very glad indeed to get your letters. Not much to write about. Frightfully busy with work and fool parties. You are a dear good soul and I hope you'll keep on writing me. In haste, I. N. Longer letter next time. He came to the end so soon. Istra was gone again.
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