Aunt Lucas was in New York at
the meeting of a society devoted to Ethical Enjoyment. Though Nielje had
been warned secretly of an expected visitor, this wild-looking young man
with long black hair, wearing a flaring coat of many colours and baggy
Turkish trousers, gave her a shock. Why did he come to the basement as
if he were one of the cook's callers? She paused. Then the door was
shoved in by a muscular arm, and she was pushed against the wall.
"Don't try that again, man," she protested.
He answered her in gibberish. "Mees, Mees Lora," he repeated.
"Ach!" she exclaimed.
Arpad Vihary gloomily followed her into the dining-room, where Lora
stood trembling. This was the third time she had met the Hungarian, and
fearing Prospect Park,--after two timid walks there, under the
fiery-fingered leaves of early autumn,--she had been prevailed upon to
invite Arpad to her home. She regretted her imprudence the moment he
entered. All his footlight picturesqueness vanished in the cold, hard
light of an unromantic Brooklyn breakfast-room. He seemed like a clumsy
circus hero as he scraped his feet over the parquetry and attempted to
kiss her hand.
Pages:
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408