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It was Elinor's turn to raise misty eyes to the Messenger of the Ideal, and, like Judith, she was silent, busy with this thought. "Because I prophesied ill concerning him!" "Oh, he couldn't say anything right out," replied Griffin knowingly, "but he made it hot for us, I tell you. Poor old Bottle Green caught it first, for painting before he'd given her permission, and then he jumped on me for not painting. Radford caught it and then he lit on Slovinski for using the Whistler palette, and she just blew up! These Poles aren't like us tame tabbies, you know, and she's full of ginger, for all her sleepy ways. She's terribly high-born, you know, and can't bear anyone to look cross-eyed at her.".
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"Am I asked?" demanded Patricia with eager eyes. "There it is!" she whispered eagerly, nudging Elinor to make her see. "It's on the screen. Oh, Norn, it must have——" "Oh, I wish you wouldn't, Norn," protested Patricia, in a small voice. "I do so want to have her for a friend. She's so lovely and talented and attractive. What is the matter with her now that you say such things? You didn't use to feel like that." "I promise you," replied Jen, with a look of stern determination in his face..
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