He looked at her questioningly. Then she told him about her visit to

Michael and the apartment.

"There is no other place in the world that I care to live

in--excepting this," she said. "Couldn't we live there, Clive, when we

go to town?"

After a moment he said: "Yes."

"Would you care to?" she asked wistfully. Then smiled as she met his

eyes.

"So I shall give up business," she said, "and that tower apartment.

There's a letter here now asking if I desire to sublet it; and as I

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had to renew my lease last June, that is what I shall do--if you'll

let me live in the place you made for me so long ago."

He answered, smilingly, that he might be induced to permit it.

Hafiz appeared, inquisitive, urbane, waving his snowy tail; but he was

shy of further demonstrations toward the man who was seated beside his

beloved mistress, and he pretended that he saw something in the

obscurity of the flowering thickets, and stalked it with every symptom

of sincerity.

"That cat must be about six years old," said Clive, watching him.

"He plays like a kitten, still."

"Do you remember how he used to pat your thread with his paws when you

were sewing."

"I remember," she said, smiling.

A little later Hafiz regained confidence in Clive and came up to rub

against his legs and permit caresses.

"Such a united family," remarked Athalie, amused by the mutual

demonstrations.

"How is Henry?" he asked.

"Fatter and slower than ever, dear. He suits my unenterprising

disposition to perfection. Now and then he condescends to be harnessed

and to carry me about the landscape. But mostly he drags the cruel

burden of Connor's lawn-mower. Do you think the place looks well

kept?"

"I knew you wanted to be flattered," he laughed.

"I do. Flatter me please."

"It's one of the best things I do, Athalie! For example--the lawn, the

cat, and the girl are all beautifully groomed; the credit is yours;

and you're a celestial dream too exquisite to be real."

"I am becoming real--as real as you are," she said with a faint smile.

"Yes," he admitted, "you and I are the only real things in the world

after all. The rest--woven scenes that come and go moving across a

loom."

She quoted: "Sun and Moon illume the Room

Where the ceiling is the sky:

Night and day the Weavers ply

Colour, shadow, hue, and dye,

Where the rushing shuttles fly,

Weaving dreams across the Loom,

Picturing a common doom!




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