“Well, what have you to say in your defense?”
The way Barbran’s eyebrows went up constituted in itself a defense fit to move any jury to acquittal.
“For what?” she asked.
“For corrupting my young friend Stacey. You made him paint those pictures.”
“They’re very nice,” returned Barbran demurely. “Quite true to the subject.”
“They’re awful. They’re an offense to civilization. They’re an insult to Our Square. Of all subjects in the world, Harvey Wheelwright! Why, Barbran? Why? Why? Why?”
“Business,” said Barbran.
“Explain, please,” said I.
“I got the idea from a friend of mine in Washington Square. She got up a little cellar café built around Alice. Alice in Wonderland, you know, and the Looking Glass. Though I don’t suppose a learned and serious person like you would ever have read such nonsense.”
“It happened to be Friday and there wasn’t a hippopotamus in the house,” I murmured.