somewhere! That's what I wish! My idea of heaven is a big, luxurious room all my own, papered in light blue, with my things spread all around everywhere, and expensive damask at the windows, and heavy mahogany furniture, and a soft, sinky carpet, and lots of mirrors, and a big, generous closet, and a comfy couch, and all the heat I want, and a tiny silk-shaded electric light at the head of the bed, and a masseuse due in fifteen minutes, and a nice, big, prosperous husband thrown in besides, who pampers me to death with extravagant luxuries. That's my idea of heaven! Kumquats, indeed, and pouring pitchforks!"
It was dark when Lucretia finally reached her destination. Henry's wife, Beatrice, in a blue negligee covered with rich yellow lace, opened the door to her.
"Hello, Lu dear!" she exclaimed. "Is it you at last? I've been so worried." She kissed Lucretia on her damp cheek. "Heavens, you're drenched! I was awfully afraid you'd missed the four-ten from town. It took you an age to get here. Have you got the kumquats?"
"All but half a dozen that rolled down the sewer," remarked Lucretia.
"Oh, you angel of mercy!" Beatrice ran on.
