take her place on the family clothesline.

She drifted from oriel window to casement, and on to a great becurtained
and becushioned bay, and looked out on the outlook.

She saw gardens like the Tuileries and Tuilerums, soft, shining pools,
little skittering fountains, marble Cupids and gay-tinted flowers. This was
the scene for her to look down upon and live up to.

"I mustn't! I mustn't! I'm nervous this afternoon! Am I sick?...... Good
Lord, I hope it isn't that! Not now! I'd hate it--I'd be scared to death!
Some day--but, please, kind Fate, not now! I don't want to go down now with
ptomaine poisoning! Not till after I've had my dinner! I'm going out for a
walk."

When Warble had plodded along for six hours, she had pretty well done up
the town.

Ptomaine Street, which took its name from her husband's own residence, was
a wide, leafy avenue with a double row of fine old trees on each side. They
were Lebbek trees, and the whole arrangement was patterned after the avenue
which Josephine built for Napoleon, out to the Mena House.

She passed the homes of the most respectable citizens. Often they were set
back from the road, and the box hedges or tall iron fences prevented
her from seeing the houses. But she saw enough and sped on to the more
interesting business and shopping section of Butterfly Center.

She passed Ariel Inn, the hotel being like a Swiss Chalet, perched on some
convenient rocks that rose to a height above street level. A few fairly