'
and 'King Lear,' and that one that Robeson and Crane
have--oh yes! 'Comedy of Errors.'"
"Those are the ones they usually play," said Corey.
"I presume we shall have to have Scott's works," said Irene,
returning to the question of books.
"Oh yes."
"One of the girls used to think he was GREAT. She was
always talking about Scott." Irene made a pretty little
amiably contemptuous mouth. "He isn't American, though?"
she suggested.
"No," said Corey; "he's Scotch, I believe."
Irene passed her glove over her forehead. "I always get
him mixed up with Cooper. Well, papa has got to get them.
If we have a library, we have got to have books in it.
Pen says it's perfectly ridiculous having one. But papa
thinks whatever the architect says is right. He fought
him hard enough at first. I don't see how any one can
keep the poets and the historians and novelists separate
in their mind. Of course papa will buy them if we say so.
But I don't see how I'm ever going to tell him which ones."
The joyous light faded out of her face and left
it pensive.
"Why, if you like," said the young man, taking out his pencil,
"I'll put down the names we've been talking about."
He clapped himself on his breast pockets to detect some
lurking scrap of paper.
"Will you?" she cried delightedly. "Here! take one of my cards,"
and she pulled out her card-case.
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