THE ENGLISH GARDENS
225
It
was a good stroke, it would have been felt by others;
however, buying and giving were the creativeness of Mary Jane's
life. They recalled the barterings in her marriage to a man·almost
as rich as herself. Had Nicolas asked her to buy him
his
beer, he
might have laid a fresh claim. Instead she answered, "No, you
save your money, Nicolas," in a kind voice. And to the waitress,
who had responded quickly to her call, as did doormen, taxis,
salespeople, (even telephones performed for Mary Jane to extri–
cate her from situations, she was generous with tipping).
«Danke,"
she said, picked up purse and paper, patted Nicolas's
hand, and left.
He watched her easily bringing a taxi to a halt, getting in,
and disappearing up Leopoldstrasse. Although his thoughts were
black, Nicolas registered nothing on his dark face which he
turned toward the friends at the other table. They hailed him
again and he took his beer over to them. A half hour later he
left, a plan in mind, having added to his luster by writing some–
thing at the table telling them it was a poem inspired by the
blonde. "I'll give it to her tonight." "The poem?" an acned stu–
dent from Minnesota asked. Once again, Nicolas belabored them
for only having sex on their minds, under cover of which he left,
before they realized he had not paid for his beers.
Meredith had awakened about 10: 00 a.m.
As
he was prowl–
ing around in his pre-coffee gloom, looking for clothes, feeling
his face, he saw a slip of paper under his door:
"It's morning and I've gone to telegraph the outer world.
Will I see you at lunch? Eurydice."
"Hm-m-mm" he muttered. Remembering, then, he bright–
ened, smiling out at the sunny gardens. Two hours later, the
maid brought yet another note:
"I'm outside at the door. Got a letter from Norman in
Venice. Can I come in? Nicolas Manas."
"Damn!" cried Meredith to himself. Irritably, he followed
the maid away from his work to receive his fellow poet.
As
they
went out through the old house to the front he tried to recall any
