“Your father, of course,” he said, “must come to realize just how Splendid you are! He doesn’t understand. “I’ve been thinking—all the afternoon. “But if you had?” she said. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. Her impressions of this cardinal ceremony were rich and confused, complicated by a quite transitory passion that awakened no reciprocal fire for a fat curly headed cousin in black velveteen and a lace collar, who assisted as a page. One or the other. At Anna’s words she seemed suddenly to stiffen. He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August.
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