March 28, z97o.
Home, please, William, said Mrs. Jameson with the affected po-
liteness she habitually used to talk to her chauffeur (You know,
Dorothy, my servants adore me, I never forget their birthdays and I
always speak to them politely). William bent his fat, shaved neck-
as it happened his name was not William, but to simplify life Mrs.
Jameson addressed all the chauffeurs who had worked for her since
the death of her husband by this name-placed his two plump
hands on the steering wheel, and the Cadillac gave a smooth hum
and started off with infinite, cautious slowness.
Mrs. Jameson rested her massive frame against the back seat,
which had been custom-made of beautiful English leather, adjusted
her glasses, which were trimmed with small but real diamonds,
propped her alligator bag on her vast thighs, pivoted her heavy
head to the left, dropped her lower lip, opened her gray eyes very
wide, and peering at Professor Sevilla, examined him at leisure, in
silence, without a trace of embarrassment, as if he were an object.
Her first impression was confirmed, dark eyes, dark complexion,
coal-black hair, he looks like a gypsy, I ll bet he s just as hairy as
poor John, a real ape, hair even on his back and a thatch on his
chest, another of those supermasculine red-blooded Latins, always
in rot.
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