t astonishing things, that Loring was socially
ambitious for her. He was resolved to build an elaborate and sumptuous
house in New York--what American journals call a "mansion." Sophy
pleaded for ample time in which to decide on the architecture and type
of this house. In the meantime they spent their spare hours in hunting
for a temporary abode where they might live during the next three or
four years.

The house of Loring's mother was the usual mass of gilding and marble
that characterised the last quarter of the nineteenth century in New
York. It was Italian. The lower floor looked like an ancient Roman Bath.
On the second floor was a Renaissance fountain. The library
chimney-piece was formed of an entire doorway taken from some tomb in
Italy, and still bearing the Italian family's coat-of-arms.

Sophy found what she wanted at last in a delightful old corner-house in
Washington Square. Every one remonstrated. The tide of fashion was
rushing like an eagre "up to the Park." Sophy did not care for Central
Park. She said that she was sure its Dryads were all made of cast-iron
and went bumping up and down every night between the horrific bronze
colossi in the main avenue. This did not seem a sufficient reason to
Loring's friends for selecting such an out-of-date, deserted spot as
Washington Square in which to live for the next four years.

However, when Sophy had finished furnishing and decorating the old
house, Loring was charmed, and very proud of her. But the house was not
completed until the following autumn.

In the meantime, Loring, without saying anything to Sophy, had leased
one of the Newport "palaces" from an absent owner for five years.

Sophy saw that the world had claimed her again. Now her mind bent itself
to the task of redeeming some months of the year for her own use. She
began to feel afraid. How was such a delicate visitant as Poetry to be
entertained amid all this confusion of tongues and glittering
paraphernalia?

"I must go to Sweet-Waters for May," she told Loring. "I'll open the
house in Newport on the first of June."

"But I'm booked for those polo matches on Long Island in May," said
Loring.

"I'm sorry, dear.... However, you won't miss me when you're playing polo
you know.... And I do long for a May in Virginia."

"Damn Virginia!" said Loring.

Sophy laughed at him.

"You'll love me all the more when I come back to you," she coaxed.
"Don't 'damn' poor Virginia."

"I do damn it...