. The Suburbanite; a monthly magazine for those who are and those who ought to in interested in suburban homes . be—all of which future develop-ments will disclose—the Girl (Cai)italizedadvisedly) came into the great dining hallwith her elderly escort when we were fin-ishing our salad. They sat but two tablesaway, the girl facing me. Perrys broadback was in full perspective. The first timeI let my glance wander as a magnet seemedto draw it, I realized how woefully inade-quate my original impression had been. Toaccentuate that second impression, my eyesmet hers—only for the swiftest second, but
. The Suburbanite; a monthly magazine for those who are and those who ought to in interested in suburban homes . be—all of which future develop-ments will disclose—the Girl (Cai)italizedadvisedly) came into the great dining hallwith her elderly escort when we were fin-ishing our salad. They sat but two tablesaway, the girl facing me. Perrys broadback was in full perspective. The first timeI let my glance wander as a magnet seemedto draw it, I realized how woefully inade-quate my original impression had been. Toaccentuate that second impression, my eyesmet hers—only for the swiftest second, butlong enough to work havoc. Tt was myglance, not hers, that faltered. .■\fter diimer I made it my business toscan the guest book at the very first oppor-tunity, and especially note the last I read it, I felt a sudden sensation of in-ternal collapse, and Im sure I do not exag-gerate when I own to a suffusion of coldperspiration along my spinal column. Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Sanford, Chicago,was the last entry. It was about all I needed to diagnose myailment. And to think that when it did at-. VietDS of (Georgian Court tack me, it sliould all be so hopeless fromthe start. It wouldnt have hurt so, jier-haps, if it had entered my head for an in-stant that she might be married. I wanted to just evaporate for a while,but Perry inveigled me into a game of bil-liards, which was about the worst thing Icould do if I wanted to cloak my no denying that my play waswretched—so far off my standard thatPerry joshed me unmercifully—and .so list-less was my etfort that nothing he said flus-tered me, that is, until he blurted out: You shoot like a man in love. Tolliver. It was a chance shot, but it left a of laughing it off as a man not inlove would have done, I retorted most un-civilly. I wasnt in love and never wouldbe, T peevishly declared, and I wanted Perryand everyone else to understand just howfrapped I was in matters sentimental. Now, I know y
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