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           HowhelovedtodoanysortofthingwithClara!Shoppingwithherwasarare,epicureandream.IneverystorewhereshehadevertradedshewaswhisperedaboutasthebeautifulMrs.Page.

           "I’llbetshewon’tstaysinglelong."

           "Well,don’tscreamitout.Sheain’tlookin’fornoadvice."

           "Ain’tshebeautiful!"

           (Enterafloor-walker—silencetillhemovesforward,smirking.)

           "Societyperson,ain’tshe?"

           "Yeah,butpoornow,Iguess;sotheysay."

           "Gee!girls,ain’tshesomekid!"

           AndClarabeamedonallalike.Amorybelievedthattradespeoplegaveherdiscounts,sometimestoherknowledgeandsometimeswithoutit.Heknewshedressedverywell,hadalwaysthebestofeverythinginthehouse,andwasinevitablywaiteduponbytheheadfloor-walkerattheveryleast.

           SometimestheywouldgotochurchtogetheronSundayandhewouldwalkbesideherandrevelinhercheeksmoistfromthesoftwaterinthenewair.Shewasverydevout,alwayshadbeen,andGodknowswhatheightssheattainedandwhatstrengthshedrewdowntoherselfwhenshekneltandbenthergoldenhairintothestained-glasslight.

           "St.Cecelia,"hecriedaloudoneday,quiteinvoluntarily,andthepeopleturnedandpeered,andthepriestpausedinhissermonandClaraandAmoryturnedtofieryred.

           ThatwasthelastSundaytheyhad,forhespoileditallthatnight.Hecouldn’thelpit.

           TheywerewalkingthroughtheMarchtwilightwhereitwasaswarmasJune,andthejoyofyouthfilledhissoulsothathefelthemustspeak.