A proposition which is perfectly apparent.
X
WITH A BRIDE
They were playing the ballet music from “Sylvia” in the loggia, a levity which no one resented, not even the old gentleman with the pale daughter, and the unctuous wheeze of the clarionette floated through the palms of the court where the fountain was flinging diamonds into the sunlight of a Southern February. The Spanish banners flapped lazily at the gate. No one resented them either, for it was a good six months since we had been at war with Spain. Moreover, St. Augustine never had been at war with Spain. It wouldn’t have been right.
The old gentleman was reading a St. Louis newspaper. The pale daughter was looking out through the arch toward the Alcazar. Near at hand were two youngish women with books in their laps. I could hear one saying to the other: “You see Virgil stole from Homer, and Dante was Virgil’s pupil. Dante gave credit to Virgil, but Virgil didn’t give credit to anybody.” Evidently this fellow Virgil was a rascal.
The Druggles party had returned from the links, and the general had a story about a tremendous drive of his that carried his ball among the prisoners at San Marco, and his little brush, afterward, with the guard at the gate. Mrs. Willie Roysell of Boston was complaining at the news that if you went to any of the hotels further South you would have to sleep on the steps.