Chlorippe, aged thirteen, kicked off her sandals and stretched her pretty snowy feet: “They were never in the world made to fit into high-heeled shoes,” she declared pensively, widening her little rosy toes.
“But we might as well get used to all these things,” sighed Philodice, rolling over among the cushions, a bunch of hothouse grapes suspended above her pink mouth. She ate one, looked at Dione, and yawned.
“I’m going to practise wearing ’em an hour a day,” said Aphrodite, “because I mean to go to the theater. It’s worth the effort. Besides,
if we just sit here in the house all day asking each other Greek riddles, we will never see anybody until Iole and Vanessa come back from their honeymoon and give teas and dinners for all sorts of interesting young men.”
“Oh, the attractive young men I have seen in these few days in New York!” exclaimed Lissa. “Would you believe it, the first day I walked out with George Wayne and Iole, I was perfectly bewildered and enchanted to see so many delightful-looking men. And by and by Iole missed me, and George came back and found me standing entranced on the corner of Fifth Avenue; and I said, “Please don’t disturb me, George, because I am only standing here to enjoy the sight of so many agreeable-looking men.” But he acted so queerly about it.” She ended with a little sigh. “However, I love George, of course, even if he does bore me. I wonder where they are now—the bridal pairs?”
“I wonder,” mused Philodice, “whether they have any children by this time?”
“Not yet,” explained Aphrodite. “But they’ll probably have some when they return. I understand it takes a good many weeks—to——”
“To find new children,” nodded Chlorippe confidently. “I suppose they’ve hidden the cunning little things somewhere on the yacht, and it’s like hunt the thimble and lots and lots of fun.” And she distributed six oranges.
Lissa was not so certain of that, but, discussing the idea with Cybele, and arriving at no conclusion, devoted herself to the large juicy orange with more satisfaction, conscious that the winter’s outlook was bright for them all and full of the charming mystery of anticipations so glittering yet so general that she could form not even the haziest ideas of their wonderful promise. And so, sucking the sunlit pulp of their oranges, they were content to live, dream, and await fulfilment under the full favor of a Heaven which had never yet sent them aught but happiness beneath the sun.
