fashion Kate Vallon and Henry Post deemed fitting and proper.
However, their ideas were much in line with Locke’s own, and so they made it only a few hours later and a few people larger than he consented to.
Pearl Jane was in ecstasies, and when the night came, and she was togged out in her Dutch Peasant costume, her already bobbed fair hair flying from under her stiff lace cap, she couldn’t wait for the hour and ran round to Tommy’s early.
She found him, garbed in a monk’s robe and cowl, standing before an easel, gazing at one of his own pictures.
“Do you really like it, Pearl Jane?” he said, almost wistfully, as she came up and stood at his side in silence.
“Yes, I do. They can guy you all they like—there’s something in your work—something of Manet—I mean Monet”
“Eeny, meeny, miney, mo!” he laughed, and turned to look at her. “Why, bless my soul, madam, you’ve suddenly grown up!”
“No, that’s ’cause this frock is longer than I usually wear. Do you like it?”
“Do blue and yellow make green? Yes, I like it. You’re a picture!”
“What’s the title?” asked another voice, and Kate and Post appeared.
“I think it might be called ‘The Puritan’s Carouse,’ Locke said, wresting his glance from the pretty Dutch girl. “Hello, Kate, you’re quite all right as a Contadina—Henry, not quite so good as a Spanish Don.”
“Ah, I’m not a Spanish Don—your mistake. I’m a Portuguese Man o’ War.”
“You look more like an Oscar Wilde.”
