By a quick transition
the unreality was swept aside.
"Indeed, I will be glad to accept."
They smiled quite frankly and happily at each other.
"An odd story occurs to me." Boswell pressed back in his chair and his
face was in shadow. "You must get used to my stories and plays. The
Property Man must have his sport. There was once a garden, very
beautiful, very desirable, but full of traps to the unwary. Quite
unexpectedly, one day, a particularly fine butterfly found herself poised
on the branch of a tree with a soaring ambition in her heart, but a blind
sense of danger, also. It was a wise butterfly, by way of change. While
it hesitated, a beetle crawled along and offered its services as guide.
The pretty, bright thing was sane enough to accept. Do you follow?"
Priscilla started. She had been caught in the mesh of the story, and now
with a sudden realization of its underlying thought she flushed and
laughed.
"I still have my childish delight in stories, you see," she said. Then,
"I--I do see what you mean. Again I repeat, I am so glad to accept
your--your kindness."
"Middle life has its disadvantages.
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