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 the room. What appeared to be still more astonishing was the fact that her eyes were focused on the limp figure in the corner. An inexplicable instinct informed Paul that he was acquainted with the rural trapezist, but it was difficult to identify the features of the reversed face. His more serious scrutiny was rewarded: he recognized Consuelo!

He glanced across the table at Wintergreen. She was engaged in devouring her alligator pear in a manner suggesting that she had not tasted food for days. Don't you want mine too? he urged. I'm not hungry.

Mouth full, she assented with an Um.

Will you excuse me for a moment while I telephone?

She gave permission with another Um.

Paul hastened from the room, down the stairs, out of the door into the yard. He crept stealthily around the side of the house. Before him now, the pink blossoms of the crab-apple-trees, set on a green embankment, hugged the blue of the sky. Consuelo had abandoned her striking posture and was sitting on the bough, while a prim, elderly woman below was imploring her to descend.

Consuelo, please, please, come down!

I won't. Not yet.

If you don't come down at once I shall be obliged to telephone your mother.

I don't care. She can't get here for another hour.