Some young people were out under the wateroaks playing croquet. Mr. Pontellier's two children were there—sturdy little fellows of four and five.

One of the President's aides gave us a ten-minute backgrounder on the dairy industry before the meeting.

She saw that he loved Ethel Churchill, utterly, worshippingly: that the withered flower which Ethel flung from her was to him a treasure.

But there ain't no such island as Thespia (unless it's in some private cement pond in Teck's Ass)