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"Isn't it lucky?" cried Patricia radiantly. "You'll see about it right away, won't you, Elinor? It has a splendid view of the park. I know she'll love that. You know how she hates 'bricks and mortar.'" Patricia started as the grotesque words sank deep. "Yes. I knew her in the West Indies shortly before Isabella was born. It was through knowing me," explained the major, "that she came to this neighborhood and rented The Wigwam. You see, Maurice, I was one of the few people she knew in England, and she remained near me for company's sake, and"--here the major hesitated--"and because she was afraid of herself," he finished significantly. I sat down at the long table by the window and slowly prepared to enjoy myself. I cut off four slices and buttered them to an equal thickness, and then more slowly put a long silver spoon into the jam. I even paused to admire in Jane's mirror over the table the effect of the cascade of lace that fell across my arm and lost itself in the blue shimmer of Madame Rene's masterpiece of a negligée, then deep down I buried the spoon in the purple sweetness. I had just lifted it high in the air when out of the lilac-scented dark of the garden came a laugh..