to listen."

"I am listening; but I'm thinking, too, that it's getting very late."

"See, here is my curtain!" he said, dragging out a breadth of heavy stuff.
He took it to the window, and threw it over a Chinese lounge that stood
beneath. "It's an old serape I picked up at Guadalajara five years ago:
the beauty of having a house is that all the old rubbish you have bored
yourself with for years immediately becomes respectable and useful. I
expect to become so myself. You don't say that you like my curtain!"

"I think it is very pagan looking, and rather--dirty."

"Well, I shan't make a point of the dirt. I dare say the thing would look
just as well if it was clean. Won't you try my lounge?" he said, as she
looked restlessly towards the door. "It was invented by a race that can
loaf more naturally than we do: it takes an American back some time to
relax enough to appreciate it."

Miss Frances half reluctantly drew her cloak about her, and yielded her
Northern slenderness to the long Oriental undulations of the couch. Her
head was thrown back, showing her fair throat and the sweet upward curves
of her lips and brows.

Arnold gazed at her with too evident delight.

"Why won't you sit still? You cannot deny that you have never been so
comfortable in your life before."

"It's a very good place to 'loaf and invite one's soul,'" she said, rising