ow glass! It was all part
of her life, past or future--somewhere.

"You see," said Aunt Caroline in her character of showman, "we have
fireplaces!"

Desire was so used to fireplaces that this did not seem extraordinary
and yet, from Aunt Caroline's tone, she knew that it must be, and tried
to look impressed.

"They are dirty," went on Aunt Caroline, "but they are worth it. They
give atmosphere. If you have a house like this, you have to have
fireplaces. That is what I tell my maids when I engage them. So that
they cannot grumble afterwards. Fireplaces are dirty, I tell them,
but--what are you staring at, my dear?"

"Was I staring? I didn't know. It is just that I seem to know it all."

Aunt Caroline looked wise. "Oh, yes. I know what you mean. Benis
explains that curious feeling--some-thing about your right sphere or
something being larger than your left, or quicker, I forget which. Not
that I can see any sense in it, anyway. Do you mind if I leave you
here? I want to see if Olive has made the changes I ordered upstairs."

"Get a hump on!" said a loud, rude voice.

Aunt Caroline jumped.

"Oh, my dear! It's that horrible parrot. Benis insists on keeping it.
Some soldier friend of his left it to him. A really terrible bird. And
its language is disgraceful. It doesn't know anything but slang. Not
even 'Polly wants a cracker.' You'll hardly believe me, but it says,
'Gimme the eats!' instead."

"Can it!" said the parrot. Aunt Caroline fled.

Desire, to whom a talking bird was a delightful novelty, went over to
the large cage where a beautiful green and yellow parrot swung
mournfully, head down.

"Pretty Polly," said Desire timidly.

The bird made a chuckling noise in his throat like a derisive goblin.

"What is your name, Polly?"

"Yorick," said Polly unexpectedly. "Alas. Poor Yorick! I knew him well."

"You'd think it knew what I said!" thought Desire with a start. She
edged away and once more the welcoming spirit of the room rose up to
meet her. She tried first one chair and then another, fingered the
leather on their backs and finally settled on the light, straight one
in the round window. It was as familiar as the glove upon her hand, and
the view from the window--well, the view from the window was partially
blocked by the professor under the beech tree, smoking.

Seeing her, he discarded his cigar and came nearer, leaning on the sill
of the opened window.

"You haven't got your hat off yet," he sai