Main  Contacts  
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

and the inevitable looming charmingly close. The future vista of her 

life seemed an unending succession of scenes like this: under moonlight 

and pale starlight, and in the backs of warm limousines and in low, cosy 

roadsters stopped under sheltering trees--only the boy might change, and 

this one was so nice. He took her hand softly. With a sudden movement he 

turned it and, holding it to his lips, kissed the palm. 

 

"Isabelle!" His whisper blended in the music, and they seemed to 

float nearer together. Her breath came faster. "Can't I kiss you, 

Isabelle--Isabelle?" Lips half parted, she turned her head to him in the 

dark. Suddenly the ring of voices, the sound of running footsteps surged 

toward them. Quick as a flash Amory reached up and turned on the light, 

and when the door opened and three boys, the wrathy and dance-craving 

Froggy among them, rushed in, he was turning over the magazines on the 

table, while she sat without moving, serene and unembarrassed, and even 

greeted them with a welcoming smile. But her heart was beating wildly, 

and she felt somehow as if she had been deprived. 

 

It was evidently over. There was a clamor for a dance, there was a 

glance that passed between them--on his side despair, on hers regret, 

and then the evening went on, with the reassured beaux and the eternal 

cutting in. 

 

At quarter to twelve Amory shook hands with her gravely, in the midst of 

a small crowd assembled to wish him good-speed. For an instant he lost 

his poise, and she felt a bit rattled when a satirical voice from a 

concealed wit cried: 

 

"Take her outside, Amory!" As he took her hand he pressed it a little, 

and she returned the pressure as she had done to twenty hands that 

evening--that was all. 

 

At two o'clock back at the Weatherbys' Sally asked her if she and Amory 

had had a "time" in the den. Isabelle turned to her quietly. In her 

eyes was the light of the idealist, the inviolate dreamer of Joan-like 

dreams. 

 

"No," she answered. "I don't do that sort of thing any more; he asked me 

to, but I said no." 


Page 30 from 47:  Back   1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   13   14   15   16   17   18   19   20   21   22   23   24   25   26   27   28   29  [30]  31   32   33   34   35   36   37   38   39   40   41   42   43   44   45   46   47   Forward