"Yes, but the bungalow is a bachelors' house near the main one. She has big crowds staying with her always."
"And what is it like—the bungalow?"
"Decorations all American Indian—Navajo blankets, pottery, baskets, what not—and half a dozen panels, landscapes, old Indian hunting-grounds."
"Have you seen her place?"
"Yes, we've been there two or three times for a few days."
"Oh, you know her, too? Do you like her? I thought she was Basil's flame."
"I like her. Basil does, too, I imagine."
"And she likes him? Aren't you jealous? They say she's fascinating. I've just barely met her."
Teresa smiled. "I couldn't be jealous any more," she said. "All that seems so foolish, now."
"Then you were jealous? … I wonder what it's like! I couldn't possibly be jealous of Horace, could I? But, of course, Basil's different. I don't think I should want a handsome man for a husband. Husbands ought to be useful. What's hers like?"
"Mrs. Perry's husband? Oh, he's useful, I suppose. He's a peevish man, with nervous prostration. He travels nearly all the time. He seems to be interested in nothing but his symp-
