"
"Roody, the two estates together in one!"
"I'm surprised at you, Rosie--honest, I'm surprised. Such talk!"
Mrs. Pelz took a pinch of his each cheek, tiptoeing to kiss him squarely
on the lips.
"Go get dressed," she said, "and I'll wait for you."
"Rosie Posy," he said, clucking into his cheek with his tongue and
moving away through the pink-shaded twilight.
At the door to the whitely glittering bathroom she called to him again,
softly; he turning.
"What'll you bet, Roody, that I get my biggest wish as soon as I got the
gray roadster and the Belgian check?"
"Women's nonsense!" said Mr. Pelz, his voice suddenly lost in the
violent plunge of water into porcelain.
In a drawing-room faithful to Dunlap Brothers' exorbitant interpretation
of the Italian Renaissance, a veritable forest of wrought-iron
candle-trees burned dimly into a scene of Pinturicchio table,
tapestry-surmounted wedding-chest, brave and hideous with _pastiglia_
work, the inevitable camp-chair of Savonarola, an Umbrian-walnut chair
with lyre-shaped front, bust of Dante Alighieri in Florentine cap and
ear-muffs, a Sienese mirror of the soul, sixteenth-century suit of
cap-a-pie armor on gold-and-black plinth, Venetian credence with
wrought-iron locks.
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