Mediaeval setting. Romanesque arches.
Stained-glass windows. Sculptured cloisters. Good work.
"How are the twins?" she asked, timidly. "Pleathe."
"Fine. Miss you terribly--we all do. Butterfly Center mourns your loss.
Spring a come-back, won't you, Warble?"
"You want me?"
"More than anything in the world! I'm mad about you! You beauty! You raving
beauty! You'll be the talk of the world this winter. Gee, Warble, how I can
dress you, now you're thin! Won't Beer be astounded!"
* * * * *
That's the way things came to Warble.
The only thing she wanted, her husband's love, now flung at her feet in
unstinted measure, pressed down and running over--love, slathers of it--all
for her! It was sweet--a pleasant change from pickles.
"How's everybody?"
"Here and there. Iva's gone."
"Thank Heaven! Where'd she go?"
"Dunno. Her husband took her off. Jealous of me." "H'm. And Daisy Snow?"
"Gone into the movies. She grew too heavy for society. May Young's in the
Old Ladies' Home."
"And Lotta Munn?"
"Murdered by her husband. He had to kill her--she wouldn't support him. The
Leathershams are in the poorhouse, and Mrs. Charity Givens has bought their
place. Want to go on a second honeymoon? Round the world?"
"Yop.
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