CHAPTER XII
"Ye pilgrim folk, advancing pensively
As if in thought of distant things, I pray
Is your own land indeed so far away
As by your aspect it would seem to be? "
Bohemia had cast its spell upon Miss Wistar. She revelled in the waywardness of her new life. Lunching every day at a restaurant; breakfasting when she chose in her studio; exploring at her own will the irregular streets of the old city, this was freedom, this was reality.
"How can people go on living in stiff houses and doing the same things over every day?" she asked Anne Bradford one rainy noon, over an improvised luncheon of caraway cakes and tea.
"Giving stupid dinners and luncheons and receptions," Anne rejoined.
"And making senseless calls. Oh, this is the only life to live!"
The severity of Helen's mood abated.
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