erly ceased to see
them, the things that nobody who really lives in Florence ever dreams of
buying, are new to these people. They _love_ them. As a result, you
can guess. There will be in their apartments alabaster plates with
profiles of Dante and Michelangelo on a black center. There will be
mosaic tables with magnolias and irises. There will be Pliny's doves.
Think of it! There will be green bronze lamps and lizards--"

"And the fruit--tell about that, Mother!" Leslie prompted.

"There will be on the sideboard in the dining-room a perpetual dish of
magnificent fruit, marble, realistic to a degree. You know the kind."

"And you could stand by and let them--you and Leslie!" spoke Brenda, in
an astonishment almost seriously reproachful.

"My dear," Leslie took up their common defense, "one's feeling in this
case is: What does it matter? A little more, a little less.... It all
goes together. When they have those curtains, they might as well have
that fruit."

"At the same time, my dear children, let me tell you that the effect is
not displeasing," insisted Mrs. Foss. "Such at least is my humble
opinion. In its way it's all right. They are people of a certain kind,
and they have bought what they like, not what they thought they ought to
like. Thousands of people, if it were not for you artists perverting
them, would be thinking a marble lemon that you can't tell from a real
one a rare and dear possession. These people haven't known any artists.
They are innocent."

"They're awfully good fun," Leslie started loyally in to make up for
anything she had said which might seem to savor of mockery or dispraise.
"One enjoys being with them, if they aren't our usual sort. They are in
good spirits, really good--good spirits with roots to them. And that's
such a treat these days!"

From which it was supposable that Leslie had been living in circles
where the gaiety was hollow. The suggestion did not escape Gerald. But,
then, Leslie, just turned twenty-four, was rather given to judging
_these days_ as if she remembered something less modern, an
affectation found piquant by her friends in a particularly
young-looking, blond girl with a short nose. Gerald might have hoped
that her sigh meant nothing had not Leslie, awake to the implication of
her remark as soon as she had made it, gone hurriedly on to call
attention away from it.

"Yes, it's pleasant to be with them. It's a change. The world seems
simple and life easy. Life _