WHITEWASH
"You like him?" Valdeck asked, half in question, half in challenge.
"He is my dearest friend, you know. I have often thought of him as a sort of Don Quixote plus intelligence," Philippa plagiarized, soulfully.
He looked admiration at her. "I love the way you paint a character in a single sentence."
"Mr. Conway," announced the butler.
Valdeck collected his hat, stick, and gloves, and bowed politely, the two men exchanged perfunctory greetings, and the graceful foreigner took his leave. The newcomer watched him with undisguised annoyance.
"Philippa, do you like that man?"
She smiled gleefully. "That's just what he asked about you."
This did not seem to soothe Morton's feelings. "You are so much in his society. How did you meet him?"
"He came from New Orleans with a letter of introduction from one of my old schoolmates, Clarissa Pointue—you know the Pointues of Louisiana who own Angel Island?"
"Victoria says that letters of introduction and
