MRS.  KENT  had  taken  many  steps  in
her  quest :  down  crowded  shopping  streets,
past  dime  museums  and  cheap  theatres,
through  the  Italian  square  where  intoler-
able hand-organs  played  forever  "  Home,
Sweet  Home."  The  cries,  the  jolting  of
the  wagons,  the  heavy  beat  of  horses'  hoofs,
and  the  sight  of  great  loads  of  leather,
granite,  lumber,  along  the  shipping  streets,
brought  her  a  certain  relief.  In  merely
82


A   Puritan  Bohemia  83

watching  the  hard  play  of  life  there  was
a  sense  of  escape.
Very  often  Anne  went  with  her.  Mrs.
Kent  marvelled  at  the  artist's  insight  into
the  expression  of  inanimate  things,  her
swift  recognition  of  human  feeling.  It
was  Anne  who  pointed  out  a  door-step,
worn  by  many  feet ;  a  bit  of  New  England
garden,  sunflower  or  hollyhock,  among
the  swarming  tenements  ;  the  curve  of  a
woman's  arm  as  she  held  her  child.
They  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  confiden-
tial intercourse  in  a  crowd.  They  talked
of  themselves,  of  their  friends,  in  half-
whispers,  the  sentences  interrupted  often
by  a  long  line  of  passers-by.
One  day,  threading  their  way  among  the
old-clothes  shops  of  Salutation  Street,  they
spoke  of  Howard.
"I  like  him,"  said  Mrs.  Kent.  "He
has  preserved  such  a  freshness  and  sweet-
ness through  all  the  experiences  of  his
student  life."

"  He  is  a  nice  boy,"  Anne  responded
cordially.  "  Only  he's  spoiled.  You  see,


84  A  Puritan  Bohemia

he  is  the  only  son  of  a  wealthy  father.
He  always  wanted  too  many  things  and
he  always  got  them.  He  lives  in  spasms.
