green omnibus going under a café-au-lait Washington Arch which veered a trifle to the right when the door opened and Teddie herself came in with a big pigskin portfolio under her arm.
"Hello there, Teddie," he said guardedly, as he watched her unspear a turban-thing of twisted velvet from her bobbed hair.
"Hello, Uncle Chandler," she rather indifferently responded as she put the pigskin portfolio on the cherrywood table. "How's the haute monde and your sciatica?"
"How's l'art pour l'art?" almost tartly responded her uncle, noting, however, with undivulged satisfaction the clear crispness of her movements and that she was thinner than usual, with an adorable little Lina-Cavaliera hollow in the center of the cheek where the butternut-brown had once more blanched into a magnolia-white.
Teddie laughed, without deigning an answer.
"How about some tea?" she said in-
