Taine and his wife with James Rutlidge
and Louise.
The novelist said something, under his breath, that had a vicious
sound--quite unlike his words of the moment before. Czar, in disgust,
retreated to the shelter of Yee Kee's domain. With a laugh, the younger
man went out to meet his friends.
"Are you at home this afternoon, Sir Artist?" called Mrs. Taine, gaily, as
he went down the walk.
"I will always be at home to the right people," he answered, greeting the
other members of the party.
As they moved toward the house,--Mr. Taine choking and coughing, his
daughter chattering and exclaiming, and James Rutlidge critically
observing,--Mrs. Taine dropped a little back to Aaron King's side. "And
are you really established, at last?" she asked eagerly; with a charming,
confidential air.
"We move to-morrow morning," he answered.
"We?" she questioned.
"Conrad Lagrange and I. He is going to live with me, you know."
"Oh!"
It is remarkable how much meaning a woman can crowd into that one small
syllable; particularly, when she draws a little away from you as she
speaks it.
"Why," he murmured apologetically, "don't you approve?"
Mrs. Taine's beautiful eyebrows went up inquiringly--"And why should I
either approve or disapprove?"
The young man was saved by the arrival of his guests at the porch steps,
and by the appearance of Conrad Lagrange, in the doorway.
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