Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 24, 2025
But, whereas Luccia will talk gaily of revolution and even anarchy for the fun of it, and in the next breath talk hats with real seriousness, Irene still remains the purposeful revolutionary student she was as a girl; while Luccia contents herself with flashing generalizations, Irene seriously studies the latest developments of thought and society, reads all the new books, sees all the new plays and pictures, and has all the new movements of whatever kind art, philosophy, and sociology at her finger ends; and I may add that her favourite writer is Anatole France.
This ghostly hospitality was duly dispensed, and Luccia, who seldom drinks anything but tea, instead of sipping her sherry with a lady-like aloofness, drained her glass with a sudden devil-may-care abandon, and, to the evident amazement even of the furniture, held it out to be refilled. Such pagan behaviour had never disgraced that scandalized drawing-room before.
When the guest had departed, with a puzzled, questioning look still lingering on her face, Luccia turned to me, her eyes bright pools of merriment: "It was quite true, wasn't it? Come, let us try it." And, nimble as a girl, she was on her feet, and we executed quite a passable tango up and down the veranda, to the accompaniment of her husband's "Luccia! Luccia! what a wild thing you are!"
"At your age!" commented Luccia with surprise. "Nonsense! You must let me teach you to dance the tango. I have enjoyed it immensely this winter." "Really?" gasped the other in astonishment, with that intonation in the voice naturally so gratifying to the "old" suggesting that the person talking with them really regards them as dead and buried.
Luccia always looks shamefaced at the question. She still feels guilty, I can see, of a traitorous backsliding and occasionally threatens to make up for it by a return to masculine costume looking the most exquisite piece of Dresden china as she says it.
A certain reputation for "wildness," a savour of innocent Bohemianism, has clung to Luccia, and Irene too, all through their lives, as a legacy from that far-off legendary time when, scarcely out of their girlhood, they were fellow art-students together in Paris.
Is it to be wondered at that often on summer days when I feel the need of a companion, I go in search of Luccia, and take tea with her on the veranda? Sometimes I will find her in the garden seated in front of her easel, making one of her delicate water-colour sketches for she was once a student in Paris and has romantic Latin-quarter memories.
But I will tell about Luccia first, and the first thing it is natural to speak of so every one else finds too is her beauty. I have, however, seen some of her early portraits, before her hair was its present beautiful colour, and I must confess that the Luccia of an earlier day does not compare with the Luccia of today.
Sometimes I see them together, though oftener apart, for Luccia and her white-haired poet husband no "older" than herself, are neighbours of mine in the country, and Irene lives for the most part in New York as much in love with its giant developments as though she did not also cherish memories of that quaint, almost vanished, New York of her girlhood days; for she is nothing if not progressive.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking