WHITEWASH
I'll read you the last few pages, provided, Morty, that you go away. I haven't the face to speak out before you. I can't help feeling I've taken an unfair advantage—particularly of your affairs. I feel guilty—but, with Victoria, I will just brazen it out."
Mrs. Durham arose, fumbled in her escritoire, and returned with several closely written sheets. She settled herself cosily beside her lamp, and waved a good-by to Morton, who departed reluctantly and under strong compulsion.
"This is the first half of the last chapter," she began:
"The babel of voices had reached a climax, the flower and palm-embowered rooms were jammed to suffocation with monkeys, parrots, and peacocks—your pardon, I mean well-dressed men, charming débutantes, and glittering matrons.—Tea, consisting of every variety of drinkable liquid, was being served by despairing waiters, struggling to fray a passage between velvet trains and lace flounces.
"A lady in black and sables, standing near the mantelpiece, looked on with interest. Beside
