e's the
real thing she'll understand and play the game; if she isn't--" He shook
his head, put one long leg over the other, and groaned.

When, however, the train stopped at the Brook Center Junction and
William Folsom, laughing, waved his hat, Mr. Badgely drew a long breath
of relief, for at Folsom's side stood a tall, graceful cosmopolite, a
being dark-eyed, daring, with the keen, lovable face of the aristocrat
of the spirit--in short, a perfection of feminine understanding in very
assured tailoring.

"She'll do," the architect told himself. His greetings were suave and
deliberate, but of necessity, almost before the car sprang away from the
junction, he began to explain that which was heavily on his mind.
William Folsom leaned back in the car, his shining eyes dwelt upon old
landmarks; he chuckled as he listened.

"You see, dear lady, your welcome is to be of the people--the
_forestiere_--I wonder if I can make you understand in so short a time
as we have? The entire countryside is at the villa now; they all told me
they were coming to greet you--so"--he shot a look at Folsom--"I invited
them."

The owner of the vanilla gave a mild war-whoop. "Oh, I say, this is
enchanting! Badgely, old chap, I can picture your sufferings." Then,
with a droll look at his wife: "She understands, bless her! She isn't
the idol of her own town for nothing!" Folsom turned and sketched the
architect's perturbation to his wife.

"Have the goodness to mention the--er--Everything," insisted Mr.
Badgely, grimly. "Have you ever seen one? No? Well, then, you needn't be
so funny." He added desperately: "They are there now arranging
the--er--golden oak and the (ahem!) the red-plush suite." He shuddered,
reiterating: "Really, Billy, the thing was _necessary_. I didn't dare
refuse. You've no idea how these people are antagonized by an Italian
villa. It seems sort of shameful to them. They foam at the mouth. Why,
unless I had been tactful you'd have had vendetta and Mafia and
everything else wished on you."

Mrs. Folsom tried to comprehend. "The poor Littles!" She had a marvelous
voice full of bird-like stirrings. Then she looked thoughtfully at the
architect. "But we will say to them 'Forget it,'" adding, with a little
pride, "I am learning William's slangs."

"Dear old gump, you forget that I was brought up in this very
neighborhood." Folsom soothed the despairing architect, but he laughed
immoderately. "His precious artistic sensibilities