stead. And without waiting for his reply she lifted out a battered old samovar and pushed the cigarettes toward his end of the table as she proceeded, somewhat more deftly than her visitor had anticipated, with the business in hand.
"About those peaches and truffles, Uncle Chandler," she said as she stooped to adjust the flickering blue flame. "I sent them back because I'm out of the flapper class now. It was kind of you, of course. But I'm no longer a schoolgirl. I've cut out that boarding-school stuff. I intend to be something more than a Strasbourg goose, and if I'm suffering from any sort of hunger, it's more a hunger of the soul than of the body."
This was a new note from Teddie, and not unlike most newnesses, it came with a slight sense of shock.
"My dear girl, I was only trying to get even with you for that—that delightful little water-color of the Palisades above Fort Lee. It was clever, my dear, and I always did like our Hudson River scenery."
