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frequently made light of and put out — and sought the piazza.
The night was perfection, soft and still, save for a tiny lisp of leaves, the high whine of insects, and the distant murmur of the sea. Out of the fullness of my content I spoke aloud to the surrounding woodland:
“Hail, ‘Sans Souci!’”
If there is one thing I abominate it is an echo. It is so essentially feminine. It always has to have the last word.
There was an echo in those woods, and when I made the above innocent observation of course it had to up and answer back. And what, pray, was the form of remark, it saw fit to make? Nothing less than:
“Su-sie!”
I felt that I was getting a little too much of the Berrith girl.
