Page:Firecrackers a realistic novel.pdf/150

 cold, so rainy, so forbidding. I recall that the sun used to shine in America in the winter. I think I should like to go to Buenos Ayres, to the Argentine, to get warm. I saw Valentino in that picture! What a handsome fellow he is! South America must be warmer, but there is no one to go with me.

I wish I might take the trip with you, Campaspe interjected, instantly detecting the Countess's mental rejection of any such proposal.

I should have married again; I am so much alone, the Countess sighed, while the waiter offered her the menu. Will you try the sole? I should have borne children, like you. When you reach my age you will have your babies, your own sons—Ella's expression was avid at the mention of this sex—to be with you, to go with you where you will. I am all alone. What will you eat?

That question settled, the waiter having departed to execute the order, the Countess burst forth again: He was extremely good-looking. There was a line to his nose. Do they have Greek waiters here? The Swiss are so short. . . . Paris is so dull. What is every one doing here? No, I don't play Mah Jong. . . . I know so few people in New York intimately—I've spent so much of my life with foreigners. Perhaps, it has been all wrong. Do you think it is too late? O, Campaspe, you must help me to undo the effect on my spirits caused by this rain! Does it rain all the time here? It's even worse than Paris.