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 ping the broken branch and extending her arms. “David,” she said. He went to her awkwardly, and she clung to him, whimpering. She raised her face, staring at him. “Can’t you do something? They hurt me, David.” But he only looked at her with his unutterable dumb longing.

She tightened her arms, released him quickly. “We’ll be out soon.” She picked up the branch again. “It'll be different then. Look! There’s another big butterfly!” Her squeal of delight became again a thin whimpering sound. She strode on.

Jenny found Mrs. Wiseman in their room, changing her dress.

“Mr. Ta—Talliaferro,” Jenny began. Then she said: “He’s an awful refined man, I guess. Don’t you think so?”

“Refined?” the other repeated. “Exactly that. Ernest invented that word.”

“He did?” Jenny went to the mirror and looked at herself a while. “Her brother’s refined, too, ain’t he?”

“Whose brother, honey?” Mrs. Wiseman paused and watched Jenny curiously.

“The one with that saw.”

“Oh. Yes, fairly so. He seems to be too busy to be anything else. Why?”

“And that popeyed man. All English men are refined, though. There was one in a movie I saw. He was awful refined.” Jenny looked at her reflected face, timelessly and completely entertained. Mrs. Wiseman gazed at Jenny’s fine minted hair, at her sleazy little dress revealing the divine inevitability of her soft body.

“Come here, Jenny,” she said.