And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. A pretty piece. “Nothing can cheer me,” he said, “except champagne. There are so many girls nowadays who are quite unpresentable at tea, with their untrimmed laughs, their awful dispositions of their legs when they sit down, their slangy disrespect; they no longer smoke, it is true, like the girls of the eighties and nineties, nevertheless to a fine intelligence they have the flavor of tobacco. Then a roar of hisses. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. See what you have made of me. “I am a fool,” he said. —There, Mr. ’ She released the pistol which lay in her lap and gestured expressively with her hands.
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