He looked at her questioningly. Then she told him about her visit to
Michael and the apartment.
"There is no other place in the world that I care to live
in--excepting this," she said. "Couldn't we live there, Clive, when we
go to town?"
After a moment he said: "Yes."
"Would you care to?" she asked wistfully. Then smiled as she met his
eyes.
"So I shall give up business," she said, "and that tower apartment.
There's a letter here now asking if I desire to sublet it; and as I
had to renew my lease last June, that is what I shall do--if you'll
let me live in the place you made for me so long ago."
He answered, smilingly, that he might be induced to permit it.
Hafiz appeared, inquisitive, urbane, waving his snowy tail; but he was
shy of further demonstrations toward the man who was seated beside his
beloved mistress, and he pretended that he saw something in the
obscurity of the flowering thickets, and stalked it with every symptom
of sincerity.
"That cat must be about six years old," said Clive, watching him.
"He plays like a kitten, still."
"Do you remember how he used to pat your thread with his paws when you
were sewing."
"I remember," she said, smiling.
A little later Hafiz regained confidence in Clive and came up to rub
against his legs and permit caresses.
"Such a united family," remarked Athalie, amused by the mutual
demonstrations.
"How is Henry?" he asked.
"Fatter and slower than ever, dear. He suits my unenterprising
disposition to perfection. Now and then he condescends to be harnessed
and to carry me about the landscape. But mostly he drags the cruel
burden of Connor's lawn-mower. Do you think the place looks well
kept?"
"I knew you wanted to be flattered," he laughed.
"I do. Flatter me please."
"It's one of the best things I do, Athalie! For example--the lawn, the
cat, and the girl are all beautifully groomed; the credit is yours;
and you're a celestial dream too exquisite to be real."
"I am becoming real--as real as you are," she said with a faint smile.
"Yes," he admitted, "you and I are the only real things in the world
after all. The rest--woven scenes that come and go moving across a
loom."
She quoted: "Sun and Moon illume the Room
Where the ceiling is the sky:
Night and day the Weavers ply
Colour, shadow, hue, and dye,
Where the rushing shuttles fly,
Weaving dreams across the Loom,
Picturing a common doom!