It's a Great World! by Emilie Loring

It's a Great World! by Emilie Loring

Author:Emilie Loring [Loring, Emilie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2020-12-22T00:00:00+00:00


xiii

In her flora printed frock of a soft new orange, Eve snuggled into a deep chair in the spacious living room of her apartment. Squatting on the dark blue rug beside it the Boston regarded her with big round eyes. He sniffed a reminder. She dropped the newspaper with its spine-shivering headlines.

“Hinting for an invitation, Mr. Bingo? Too much of a gentleman, aren’t you, to force yourself in. Come!”

The dog jumped into the chair and squeezed down beside her. She stroked his head.

“Let’s talk over the house-warming, Bing. Some party, wasn’t it? Small but choice with the Senator and Aunt Dorinda and Court and the Colonel and Señor Alvarez and Seth Ramsdell. Ooch, but my slippers are tired!”

She stretched out gold-kid encased feet.

“Not surprising that they are, is it Bingy? I’ve spent almost every moment during the last two weeks—when I haven’t been in the office—getting this apartment settled. I’ve been up since dawn this morning preparing for the party. I took time out for church, only. I’m going to church Sunday mornings, if I do nothing else during the day, funny-face. The service is like wings under my spirits. It starts the week right. The text this morning was like a crystal clear tide flowing over my mind, clearing it of unrest, ‘Be still and know that I am God.’ For an instant I had the curious feeling that the world was holding its breath.

“That’s like me, isn’t it, Bingo? Imagination plus. This room was made for my furniture, it is so old-timey in its size, and the ceilings are so high. Even the baby grand piano Uncle Jock contributed, doesn’t crowd it. It belongs to the precode age, when residents of Washington had leisure for gracious living. Perhaps the ghost of a lovely lady steals out on the balcony to watch for her lover.”

Her hand moved slowly back and forth across the dog’s head as she looked around the room. Light from priceless pieces of Ming which had been made into lamps accentuated the satin finish of old-time wood-work, brightened the blue of the damask hangings drawn across the long windows, and deepened the rosy glow of the sunset in the Inness hung in the panel above the fireplace. She had had to borrow vases for the flowers which had been sent by her guests. She would send Annie to the New England storehouse to select more of her belongings. She tweaked the dog’s ear.

“Don’t go to sleep, Bing, I want to talk. Aren’t those yellow roses perfect against the blue hangings? And those long stemmed crimson ones look like Señor Eduardo Enrique Alvarez, don’t they? Jeff sent me those gorgeous white lilacs, pink tulips and yellow and violet freesias. Why do you suppose he didn’t come? Moya wasn’t here either. That’s funny. I hadn’t missed her before. Hear the guitar! Maybe it is the lover of the ghost-lady serenading her. The music is faint, but it can’t be far away. Radio, of course. Makes me feel as if I were back at Uncle Scrip’s with José playing in Jeff’s garden.



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