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Table of contents
AMORY, SON OF BEATRICE
SPIRES AND GARGOYLES
THE EGOTIST CONSIDERS
NARCISSUS OFF DUTY
THE DEBUTANTE
EXPERIMENTS IN CONVALESCENCE
YOUNG IRONY
THE SUPERCILIOUS SACRIFICE
THE EGOTIST BECOMES A PERSONAGE

questioning of moral codes. Amory found it rather fascinating to feel 

that any popular girl he met before eight he might quite possibly kiss 

before twelve. 

 

"Why on earth are we here?" he asked the girl with the green combs one 

night as they sat in some one's limousine, outside the Country Club in 

Louisville. 

 

"I don't know. I'm just full of the devil." 

 

"Let's be frank--we'll never see each other again. I wanted to come out 

here with you because I thought you were the best-looking girl in sight. 

You really don't care whether you ever see me again, do you?" 

 

"No--but is this your line for every girl? What have I done to deserve 

it?" 

 

"And you didn't feel tired dancing or want a cigarette or any of the 

things you said? You just wanted to be--" 

 

"Oh, let's go in," she interrupted, "if you want to _analyze_. Let's not 

_talk_ about it." 

 

When the hand-knit, sleeveless jerseys were stylish, Amory, in a burst 

of inspiration, named them "petting shirts." The name travelled from 

coast to coast on the lips of parlor-snakes and P. D.'s. 

 

***** 

 

DESCRIPTIVE 

 

Amory was now eighteen years old, just under six feet tall and 

exceptionally, but not conventionally, handsome. He had rather a young 

face, the ingenuousness of which was marred by the penetrating green 

eyes, fringed with long dark eyelashes. He lacked somehow that intense 

animal magnetism that so often accompanies beauty in men or women; his 

personality seemed rather a mental thing, and it was not in his power 

to turn it on and off like a water-faucet. But people never forgot his 

face. 

 

***** 

 

ISABELLE 

 

She paused at the top of the staircase. The sensations attributed to 

divers on spring-boards, leading ladies on opening nights, and lumpy, 

husky young men on the day of the Big Game, crowded through her. She 

should have descended to a burst of drums or a discordant blend of 

themes from "Thais" and "Carmen." She had never been so curious about 

her appearance, she had never been so satisfied with it. She had been 


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