Randon. The latter agreed that it had
such a look. He was positively jovial. He dismissed the cab before the
familiar entrance on East Sixty-sixth Street, and was admitted
immediately: the servant caught his coat, and he went into the drawing-
room. There had been, he saw, a tea; the confusion lingering from a
crowd was evident; the cups, on all the available surfaces, had not
been removed; in a corner were the skeleton-like iron music racks of a
small orchestra; ash trays were overflowing; and a sealskin muff, with
a bunch of violets pinned to it, had been left.
Savina had gone upstairs, but she would be down at once. Lee was turned
away from the door when she entered; she was wearing a cloth dress of
dull red--hadn't he heard it called Cuba color?--with a heavy girdle of
grotesque intertwined silver figures. With a single glance behind her
she swept forward into Lee's arms, her mouth held up to his.
* * * * *
Listening closely to all that he had to say, she sat with her hands
quietly folded on crossed knees. Perhaps twice she nodded,
comprehendingly. "And so," he ended, "that is what has occurred. We are
not to blame ourselves too much, as I've explained; the thing happened
within itself, died of its own accord. But the past doesn't need our
attention now. The future is the thing. What is it going to be? What,"
he hesitated, "can we make it? Maybe everything, or nothing.
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