forty-five, she twenty-five. In the back of my mind was always a sense
of the enormity of her offense against Perry. In my hottest moments I
said to myself that she had sacrificed his life to her selfishness; she
might have been a Borgia or a Medici.

Yet when I was with her my resentment faded; one could as little hold
rancor against a child.

Thus the months passed, and it was in the autumn, I remember, that a
conversation occurred which opened new vistas. She had been showing me a
parchment lamp-shade which she had painted. There was a peacock with a
spreading tail, and as she held the shade over the lamp the light shone
through and turned every feathered eye into a glittering jewel. Rosalie
wore one of her purple robes, and I can see her now as I shut my eyes,
as glowing and gorgeous as some of those unrivaled masterpieces in the
Pitti Palace.

"Jim Crow," she said, "I shall do a parrot next--all red and blue, with
white rings round his eyes."

"You will never do anything better than that peacock."

"Shan't I?" She left the shade over the lamp and sat down. "Do you think
I shall paint peacocks and parrots for the rest of my life, Jim Crow?"

"What would you like to do?" I asked her.

"Travel." She was eager. "Do you know, I have never been to Europe?
Perry used to tell me about it--Botticelli and Raphael--and
Michaelangelo--"

"We had a great time," I said, remembering it all--that breathless
search for beauty.

"He promised that some day he and I would go--together."

"Poor Perry!"

She rose restlessly.

"Oh, take me out somewhere, Jim Crow! I feel as if this little house
would stifle me."

We motored to the country club. She wore the color which she now
affected, a close little hat and a straight frock. People stared at her.
I think she was aware of their admiration and liked it.

She smiled at me as she sat down at the table. "I always love to come
with you, Jim Crow."

"Why?"

"You do things so well, and you're such a darling."

I do not believe that it was intended as flattery. I am sure that she
meant it. She was happy because of the lights and the lovely old room
with its cavernous fireplace and its English chintzes; and out of her
happiness she spoke.

She could not, of course, know the effect of her words on me. No one had
ever called me a darling or had thought that I did things well.

She used, too, to tell me things about my looks. "You'd be like one of
those distinguished gent