occurred to me that your husband might like something political; but I presume not.”
“Something political?”
‚ÄúYes. You see, it‚Äôs barely possible, for instance, that there will be a change in the French ambassadorship. The present ambassador is old and‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, I don‚Äôt know, but as I say, it‚Äôs possible. Of course though, that may not appeal to you, and I can only beg your good offices in charity if‚ÅÝ‚Äîif you see your way to help us. Well, I must be going.‚Äù
‚ÄúWhat is‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI thought the President appointed ambassadors.‚Äù
‚ÄúTo be sure, but we appoint Presidents,‚Äù laughed Mr. ¬ÝEasterly. ‚ÄúGood day. I shall hope to see you in Washington.‚Äù
‚ÄúGood day,‚Äù Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool returned absently.
After he had gone she walked slowly to Zora‚Äôs room and opened the door. For a long time she stood quietly looking in. Zora was curled in a chair with a book. She was in dreamland; in a world of books builded thoughtfully for her by Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool, and before that by Miss Smith. Her work took but little of her time and left hours for reading and thinking. In that thought-life, more and more her real living centred.
Hour after hour, day after day, she lay buried, deaf and dumb to all else. Her heart cried, up on the World‚Äôs four corners of the Way, and to it came the Vision Splendid. She gossiped with old Herodotus across the earth to the black and blameless Ethiopians; she saw the sculptured glories of Phidias marbled amid the splendor of the swamp; she listened to Demosthenes and walked the Appian Way with Cornelia‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhile all New York streamed beneath her window.
She saw the drunken Goths reel upon Rome and heard the careless Negroes yodle as they galloped to Toomsville. Paris, she