“Martin, you realize that I’m dating someone, don’t you?” She knew his reply before he uttered it. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture.
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