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twg_000000044800 | gifts. She was much taken up by Bruce, by Archie and Dilly, and was fond of losing herself in ideas and in books, and in various artistic movements and fads in which her interest was cultivated and perhaps inspired by Vincy. Vincy was her greatest friend and confidant. He was really a great safety-valve, and she told him nearly every | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044801 | thought. Still, Archie was, so far, her greatest interest. He was a particularly pretty boy, and she was justified in thinking him rather unusual. At this period he spent a considerable amount of his leisure time not only in longing to see real animals, but in inventing and drawing pictures of non-existent ones--horrible creatures, or quaint creatures, for which he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044802 | found the strangest names. He told Dilly about them, but Dilly was not his audience--she was rather his confidante and literary adviser; or even sometimes his collaborator. His public consisted principally of his mother. It was a convention that Edith should be frightened, shocked and horrified at the creatures of his imagination, while Dilly privately revelled in their success. Miss | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044803 | Townsend, the governess, was rather coldly ignored in this matter. She had a way of speaking of the animals with a smile, as a nice occupation to keep the children quiet. She did not understand. 'Please, Madam, would you kindly go into the nursery; Master Archie wishes you to come and hear about the golden--something he's just made up like,' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044804 | said Dilly's nurse with an expression of resignation. Edith jumped up at once. 'Oh dear! Tell Master Archie I'm coming.' She ran into the nursery and found Archie and Dilly both looking rather excited; Archie, fairly self-controlled, with a paper in his hand on which was a rough sketch which he would not let her see, and hid behind him. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044805 | 'Mother,' Archie began in a low, solemn voice, rather slowly, 'the golden quoribus is the most horrible animal, the most awful-looking animal, you ever heard of in _your_ life!' 'Oh-h-h! How awful!' said Edith, beginning to shiver. 'Wait a moment--let me sit down quietly and hear about it.' She sat down by the fire and clasped her hands, looking at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044806 | him with a terrified expression which was part of the ritual. Dilly giggled, and put her thumb in her mouth, watching the effect with widely opened eyes. 'Much more awful than the gazeka, of course, I suppose?' Edith said rather rashly. 'Much,' said Dilly. '(Be quiet, Dilly!) Mother!' he was reproachful, 'what do you mean? The gazeka? Why--the gazeka's nothing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044807 | at all--it's a rotten little animal. It doesn't count. Besides, it isn't real--it never was real. Gazeka, indeed!' 'Oh, I beg your pardon,' said Edith repentantly; 'do go on.' 'No... the golden quoribus is far-ar-r-r-r more frightening even than the jilbery. Do you remember how awful _that_ was? And much larger.' 'What! Worse than the jilbery! Oh, good gracious! How | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044808 | dreadful! What's it like?' 'First of all--it's as long as from here to Brighton,' said Archie. 'A little longer,' said Dilly. '(Shut up, miss!) As long. It's called the golden quoribus because it's bright gold, except the bumps; and the bumps are green.' 'Bright green,' said Dilly. '(Oh, will you hold your tongue, Dilly?) Green.' 'How terrible!... And what shape | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044809 | is it?' 'All pointed and sharp, and three-cornered.' 'Does it breathe fire?' asked Edith. Archie smiled contemptuously. 'Breathe fire! Oh, Mother! Do you think it's a silly dragon in a fairy story? Of course it doesn't. How can it breathe fire?' 'Sorry,' said Edith apologetically. 'Go on.' '_But_, the peculiar thing about it, besides that it lives entirely on muffins | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044810 | and mutton and the frightening part, I'm coming to now.' He became emphatic, and spoke slowly. 'The golden quoribus has more claws than any... other... animal... in the whole world!' 'Oh-h-h,' she shuddered. 'Yes,' said Archie solemnly. 'It has large claws coming out of its head.' 'Its head! Good gracious!' 'It has claws here and claws there; claws coming out | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044811 | of the eyes; and claws coming out of the ears; and claws coming out of its shoulders; and claws coming out of the forehead!' Edith shivered with fright and held up her hands in front of her eyes to ward off the picture. 'And claws coming out of the mouth,' said Archie, coming a step nearer to her and raising | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044812 | his voice. Edith jumped. 'And claws coming out of the hands, and claws coming out of the feet!' 'Yes,' said Dilly, wildly and recklessly and jumping up and down, 'and claws on the ceiling, and claws on the floor, and claws all over the world!' With one violent slap she was sent sprawling. Shrieks, sobs and tears filled the quiet | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044813 | nursery. 'I know,' said Archie, when he had been persuaded to apologise, 'of course I know a gentleman oughtn't to hit a lady, not even--I mean, especially not if she's his little sister. But oh, Mother, ought a lady to interrupt a story?' When Edith told Vincy he entirely took Archie's side. Suppose Sargent were painting a beautiful picture, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044814 | one of his pupils, snatching the paint-brush from him, insisted on finishing it, and spoiling it--how would he like it? Imagine a poet who had just written a great poem, and been interrupted in reciting it by someone who quickly finished it off all wrong! The author might be forgiven under such circumstances if in his irritation he took a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044815 | strong line. In Vincy's opinion it served Dilly jolly well right. Young? Of course she was young, but four (he said) was not a day too soon to begin to learn to respect the work of the artist. Edith owned that Archie was not easily exasperated and was as a rule very patient with the child. Bruce took an entirely | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044816 | different view. He was quite gloomy about it and feared that Archie showed every sign of growing up to be an Apache. The Mitchells The Mitchells were, as Vincy had said, extremely hospitable; they had a perfect mania for receiving; they practically lived for it, and the big house at Hampstead, with its large garden covered in, and a sort | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044817 | of studio built out, was scarcely ever without guests. When they didn't have some sort of party they invariably went out. Mitchell's great joy was to make his parties different from others by some childish fantasy or other. He especially delighted in a surprise. He often took the trouble (for instance) to have a telegram sent to every one of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044818 | his guests during the course of the evening. Each of these wires contained some personal chaff or practical joke. At other times he would give everyone little presents, concealed in some way. Christmas didn't come once a year to the Mitchells; it seemed never to go away. One was always surprised not to find a Christmas tree and crackers. These | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044819 | entertainments, always splendidly done materially, and curiously erratic socially, were sometimes extremely amusing; at others, of course, a frost; it was rather a toss-up. And the guests were, without exception, the most extraordinary mixture in London. They included delightful people, absurd people, average people; people who were smart and people who were dowdy, some who were respectable and nothing else, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044820 | some who were deplorable, others beautiful, and many merely dull. There was never the slightest attempt at any sort of harmonising, or of suitability; there was a great deal of kindness to the hard-up, and a wild and extravagant delight in any novelty. In fact, the Mitchells were everything except exclusive, and as they were not guided by any sort | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044821 | of rule, they really lived, in St John's Wood, superior to suburban or indeed any other restrictions. They would ask the same guests to dinner time after time, six or seven times in succession. They would invite cordially a person of no attraction whatsoever whom they had only just met, and they would behave with casual coolness to desirable acquaintances | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044822 | or favourite friends whom they had known all their lives. However, there was no doubt that their parties had got the name for being funny, and that was quite enough. London people in every set are so desperate for something out of the ordinary way, for variety and oddness, that the Mitchells were frequently asked for invitations by most distinguished | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044823 | persons who hoped, in their blas fatigue, to meet something new and queer. For the real Londoner is a good deal of a child, and loves Punch and Judy shows, and conjuring tricks (symbolically speaking)--and is also often dreaming of the chance of meeting some spring novelty, in the way of romance. Although the Mitchells were proud of these successes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044824 | they were as free from snobbishness as almost anyone could be. On the whole Mrs Mitchell had a slight weakness for celebrities, while Mr Mitchell preferred pretty women, or people who romped. It was merely from carelessness that the Ottleys had never been asked before. When Edith and Bruce found themselves in the large square country-house-looking hall, with its oak | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044825 | beams and early English fireplace, about twenty people had arrived, and as many more were expected. A lively chatter had already begun; for each woman had been offered on her arrival a basket from which she had to choose a brightly coloured ribbon. These ribbons matched the rosettes presented in an equally haphazard way to every man. As Vincy observed, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044826 | it gave one the rather ghastly impression that there was going to be a cotillion at once, on sight, before dinner; which was a little frightening. In reality it was merely so that the partners for the meal should be chosen by chance. Mitchell thought this more fun than arranging guests; but there was an element of gambling about it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044827 | that made wary people nervous. Everyone present would have cheated had it been possible. But it was not. Mrs Mitchell was a tiny brown-eyed creature, who looked absurdly young; she was kind, sprightly, and rather like a grouse. Mitchell was a jovial-looking man, with a high forehead, almost too much ease of manner, and a twinkling eye. The chief guests | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044828 | tonight consisted of Lord Rye, a middle-aged suffraget, who was known for his habit of barking before he spoke and for his wonderful ear for music--he could play all Richard, Oscar and Johann Strauss's compositions by ear on the piano, and never mixed them up; Aylmer Ross, the handsome barrister; Myra Mooney, who had been on the stage; and an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044829 | intelligent foreigner from the embassy, with a decoration, a goat-like beard, and an Armenian accent. Mrs Mitchell said he was the minister from some place with a name like Ruritania. She had a vague memory. There was also a Mr Cricker, a very young man of whom it was said that he could dance like Nijinsky, but never would; and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044830 | the rest were chiefly Foreign Office clerks (like Mitchell and Bruce), more barristers and their wives, a soldier or two, some undergraduates, a lady photographer, a few pretty girls, and vague people. There were to be forty guests for dinner and a few more in the evening. Almost immediately on her arrival Edith noticed a tall, clean-shaven man, with smooth | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044831 | fair hair, observant blue eyes, and a rather humorous expression, and she instantly decided that she would try to will him to take her to dinner. (Rather a superfluous effort of magnetism, since it must have been settled already by fate and the ribbons.) It was obvious from one quick glance that he shared the wish. To their absurdly great | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044832 | mutual disappointment (a lot of ground was covered very quickly at the Mitchells), their ribbons didn't match, and she was taken to dinner by Captain Willis, who looked dull. Fortune, however, favoured her. On her other side she found the man who looked amusing. He was introduced to her across the table by Mrs Mitchell, with _empressement_, as Mr Aylmer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044833 | Ross. Edith felt happy tonight; her spirits were raised by what she felt to be an atmosphere _tide_, as the French say; full of indulgence, sympathetic, relaxing, in which either cleverness or stupidity could float equally at its ease. The puerility of the silly little arrangements to amuse removed all sense of ceremony. The note is always struck by the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044834 | hostess, and she was everything that was amiable, without effort or affectation. No-one was ever afraid of her. Bruce's neighbour at dinner was the delicate, battered-looking actress, in a Royal fringe and a tight bodice with short sleeves, who had once been a celebrity, though no-one remembered for what. Miss Myra Mooney, formerly a beauty, had known her days of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044835 | success. She had been the supreme performer of ladylike parts. She had been known as the very quintessence of refinement. It was assumed when she first came out that a duke would go to the devil for her in her youth, and that in her late maturity she would tour the provinces with _The Three Musketeers_. Neither of these prophecies | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044836 | had, however, been fulfilled. She still occasionally took small middle-aged titled parts in repertoire matinees. She was unable to help referring constantly to the hit she made in _Peril_ at Manchester in ; nor could she ever resist speaking of the young man who sent her red carnations every day of his blighted existence for fifteen years; a pure romance, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044837 | indeed, for, as she owned, he never even wished to be introduced to her. She still called him poor boy, oblivious of the fact that he was now sixty-eight, and, according to the illustrated papers, spent his entire time in giving away a numberless succession of daughters in brilliant marriage at St George's, Hanover Square. In this way Miss Mooney | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044838 | lived a good deal in the past, but she was not unaware of the present, and was always particularly nice to people generally regarded as bores. So she was never without plenty of invitations. Mitchell had had formerly a slight _tendre_ for her, and in his good nature pretended to think she had not altered a bit. She was still | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044839 | refined _comme cela ne se fait plus_; it was practically no longer possible to find such a perfect lady, even on the stage. As she also had all the easy good nature of the artist, and made herself extremely agreeable, Bruce was delighted with her, and evidently thought he had drawn a prize. 'I wondered,' Aylmer Ross said, 'whether this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044840 | could possibly happen. First I half hoped it might; then I gave it up in despair.' 'So did I,' said Edith; 'and yet I generally know. I've a touch of second sight, I think--at dinner-parties.' 'Oh, well, I have second sight too--any amount; only it's always wrong. However!...' 'Aren't the Mitchells dears?' said Edith. 'Oh, quite. Do you know them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044841 | well?' 'Very well, indeed. But I've never seen them before.' 'Ah, I see. Well, now we've found our way here--broken the ice and that sort of thing--we must often come and dine with them, mustn't we, Mrs Ottley? Can't we come again next week?' 'Very sweet of you to ask us, I'm sure.' 'Not at all; very jolly of us | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044842 | to turn up. The boot is on the other leg, or whatever the phrase is. By the way, I'm sure you know everything, Mrs Ottley, tell me, did people ever wear only one boot at a time, do you think, or how did this expression originate?' 'I wonder.' Something in his suave manner of taking everything for granted seemed to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044843 | make them know each other almost too quickly, and gave her an odd sort of self-consciousness. She turned to Captain Willis on her other side. 'I say,' he said querulously, 'isn't this a bit off? We've got the same coloured ribbons and you haven't said a word to me yet! Rather rot, isn't it, what?' 'Oh, haven't I? I will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044844 | now.' Captain Willis lowered his voice to a confidential tone and said: 'Do you know, what I always say is--live and let live and let it go at that; what?' 'That's a dark saying,' said Edith. 'Have a burnt almond,' said Captain Willis inconsequently, as though it would help her to understand. 'Yes, Mrs Ottley, that's what I always say.... | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044845 | But people won't, you know--they won't--and there it is.' He seemed resigned. 'Good chap, Mitchell, isn't he? Musical chairs, I believe--that's what we're to play this evening; or bridge, whichever we like. I shall go in for bridge. I'm not musical.' 'And which shall you do?' asked Aylmer of Edith. He had evidently been listening. 'Neither.' 'We'll talk then, shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044846 | we? I can't play bridge either.... Mrs Ottley--which is your husband? I didn't notice when you came in.' 'Over there, opposite; the left-hand corner.' 'Good-looking chap with the light moustache--next to Myra Mooney?' 'That's it,' she said. 'He seems to be enjoying himself. I'm glad he's got Miss Mooney. He's lucky.' 'He is indeed,' said Aylmer. 'She's a wonderful-looking woman--like | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044847 | an old photograph, or someone in a book,' said Edith. 'Do you care for books?' 'Oh, yes, rather. I've just been discovering Bourget. Fancy, I didn't know about him! I've just read _Mensonges_ for the first time.' 'Oh yes. Rather a pompous chap, isn't he? But you could do worse than read _Mensonges_ for the first time.' 'I _have_ done | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044848 | worse. I've been reading Rudyard Kipling for the last time.' 'Really! Don't you like him? Why?' 'I feel all the time, somehow, as if he were calling me by my Christian name without an introduction, or as if he wanted me to exchange hats with him,' she said. 'He's so fearfully familiar with his readers.' 'But you think he keeps | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044849 | at a respectful distance from his characters? However--why worry about books at all, Mrs Ottley? Flowers, lilies of the field, and so forth, don't toil or spin; why should they belong to libraries? I don't think you ever ought to read--except perhaps sometimes a little poetry, or romance.... You see, that is what you are, rather, isn't it?' 'Don't you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044850 | care for books?' she answered, ignoring the compliment. 'I should have thought you loved them, and knew everything about them. I'm not sure that I know.' 'You know quite enough, believe me,' he answered earnestly. 'Oh, don't be cultured--don't talk about Lloyd George! Don't take an intelligent interest in the subjects of the day!' 'All right; I'll try not.' She | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044851 | turned with a laugh to Captain Willis, who seemed very depressed. 'I say, you know,' he said complainingly, 'this is all very well. It's all very well no doubt. But I only ask one thing--just one. Is this cricket? I merely ask, you know. Just that--is it cricket; what?' 'It isn't meant to be. What's the matter?' 'Why, I'm simply | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044852 | fed up and broken-hearted, you know. Hardly two words have I had with you tonight, Mrs Ottley.... I suppose that chap's awfully amusing, what? I'm not amusing.... I know that.' 'Oh, don't say that. Indeed you are.' she consoled him. 'Am I though?' 'Well, you amuse _me_!' 'Right!' He laughed cheerily. He always filled up pauses with a laugh. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044853 | Surprise Certainly Mrs Mitchell on one side and Captain Willis on the other had suffered neglect. But they seemed to become hardened to it towards the end of dinner.... 'I have a boy, too,' Aylmer remarked irrelevantly, 'rather a nice chap. Just ten.' Though only by the merest, slightest movement of an eyelash Edith could not avoid showing her surprise. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044854 | No-one ever had less the air of a married man. Also, she was quite ridiculously disappointed. One can't say why, but one doesn't talk to a married man quite in the same way or so frankly as to a bachelor--if one is a married woman. She did not ask about his wife, but said: 'Fancy! Boys are rather nice things | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044855 | to have about, aren't they?' She was looking round the table, trying to divine which was Mrs Aylmer Ross. No, she wasn't there. Edith felt sure of it. It was an unaccountable satisfaction. 'Yes; he's all right. And now give me a detailed description of _your_ children.' 'I can't. I never could talk about them.' 'I see.... I should like | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044856 | to see them.... I saw you speak to Vincy. Dear little fellow, isn't he?' 'He's a great friend of mine.' 'I'm tremendously devoted to him, too. He's what used to be called an exquisite. And he _is_ exquisite; he has an exquisite mind. But, of course, you know what a good sort he is.' 'Rather.' 'He seems rather to look | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044857 | at life than to act in it, doesn't he?' continued Aylmer. 'He's a brilliant sort of spectator. Vincy thinks that all the world's a stage, but _he's_ always in the front row of the stalls. I never could be like that ... I always want to be right in the thick of it, on in every scene, and always performing!' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044858 | 'To an audience?' said Edith. He smiled and went on. 'What's so jolly about him is that though he's so quiet, yet he's genial; not chilly and reserved. He's frank, I mean--and confiding. Without ever saying much. He expresses himself in his own way.' 'That's quite true.' 'And, after all, it's really only expression that makes things real. 'If you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044859 | don't talk about a thing, it has never happened.'' 'But it doesn't always follow that a thing has happened because you do talk about it,' said Edith. 'Ah, Mrs Mitchell's going !' She floated away. He remained in a rather ecstatic state of absence of mind. * * * * * Mrs Mitchell gladly told Edith all about Aylmer Ross, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044860 | how clever he was, how nice, how devoted to his little boy. He had married very young, it seemed, and had lost his wife two years after. This was ten years ago, and according to Mrs Mitchell he had never looked at another woman since. Women love to simplify in this sentimental way. 'However,' she said consolingly, 'he's still quite | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044861 | young, under forty, and he's sure to fall in love and marry again.' 'No doubt,' said Edith, wishing the first wife had remained alive. She disliked the non-existent second one. * * * * * Nearly all the men had now joined the ladies in the studio, with the exception of Bruce and of Aylmer Ross. Mrs Mitchell had taken | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044862 | an immense fancy to Edith and showed it by telling her all about a wonderful little tailor who made coats and skirts better than Lucile for next to nothing, and by introducing to her Lord Rye and the embassy man, and Mr Cricker. Edith was sitting in a becoming corner under a shaded light from which she could watch the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044863 | door, when Vincy came up to talk to her. 'You seemed to get on rather well at dinner,' he said. 'Yes; isn't Captain Willis a dear?' 'Oh, simply sweet. So bright and clever. I was sure you'd like him, Edith.' Captain Willis here came up and said, a shade more jovially than he had spoken at dinner, with his laugh: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044864 | 'Well, you know, Mrs Ottley, what I always say is--live and let live and let it go at that; what? But they never _do_, you know! They won't--and there it is!' Edith now did a thing she had never done in her life before and which was entirely unlike her. She tried her utmost to retain the group round her, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044865 | and to hold their attention. For a reason of which she was hardly conscious, she wanted Aylmer Ross to see her surrounded. The minister from the place with a name like Ruritania was so immensely bowled over that he was already murmuring in a low voice (almost a hiss, as they say in melodrama): 'Vous tes chez vous, quand? Dites | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044866 | un mot, un mot seulement, et je me prcipiterai vos pieds_,' while at the same time, in her other ear, Lord Rye was explaining (to her pretended intense interest) how he could play the whole of _Elektra, The Chocolate Soldier_ and _Nightbirds_ by ear without a single mistake. ('Perfectly sound!' grumbled Captain Willis, 'but why do it?') Vincy was listening, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044867 | enjoying himself. Bruce came in at last, evidently engaged in an absorbed and intimate conversation with Aylmer Ross. They seemed so much interested in their talk that they went to the other end of the room and sat down there together. Aylmer gave her one glance only. Edith was unreasonably annoyed. What on earth could he and Bruce find to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044868 | talk about? At length, growing tired of her position, she got up, and walked across the room to look at a picture on the wall, turning her graceful back to the room. Bruce had now at last left his companion, but still Aylmer Ross did not go and speak to her, though he was sitting alone. Musical chairs began in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044869 | the studio. Someone was playing 'Baby, look-a-here,' stopping suddenly in the middle to shouts of laughter and shrieks from the romping players. In the drawing-room some of the people were playing bridge. How dull the rest of the evening was! Just before the party practically broke up, Edith had an opportunity of saying as she passed Aylmer: 'I thought we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044870 | were going to have a talk instead of playing games?' 'I saw you were occupied,' he answered ceremoniously. 'I didn't like--to interrupt.' She laughed. 'Is this a jealous scene, Mr Ross?' 'I wonder,' he said, smiling, 'and if so, whose. Well, I hope to see you again soon.' '_What_ a success your charming wife has had tonight,' said Mrs Mitchell | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044871 | to Bruce, as they took leave. 'Everyone is quite wild about her. How pretty she is! You _must_ be proud of her.' They were nearly the last. Mr Cricker, who had firmly refused the whole evening, in spite of abject entreaties, to dance like Nijinsky, suddenly relented when everyone had forgotten all about it, and was leaping alone in the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044872 | studio, while Lord Rye, always a great lingerer, was playing Richard Strauss to himself on the baby Grand, and smoking a huge cigar. 'Edith,' said Bruce solemnly, as they drove away, 'I've made a friend tonight. There was one really charming man there--he took an immense fancy to me.' 'Oh--who was that?' 'Who was that?' he mimicked her, but quite | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044873 | good-naturedly. 'How stupid women are in some things! Why, Aylmer Ross, the chap who sat next to you at dinner! I suppose you didn't appreciate him. Very clever, very interesting. He was anxious to know several things which I was glad to be in a position to tell him. Yes--an awfully good sort. I asked him to dine at my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044874 | club one day, to go on with our conversation.' 'Oh, did you?' 'Yes. Why shouldn't I? However, it seems from what he said that he thinks the Carlton's nicer for a talk, so I'm going to ask him there instead. You can come too, dear. He won't mind; it won't prevent our talking.' 'Oh, are we going to give a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044875 | dinner at the Carlton?' 'I wish you wouldn't oppose me, Edith. Once in a way! Of course I shall. Our flat's too small to give a decent dinner. He's one of the nicest chaps I've ever met.' 'Well, do you want me to write tomorrow morning then, dear?' 'Er--no--I have asked him already.' 'Oh, really--which day?' 'Well, I suggested next | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044876 | Thursday--but he thought tomorrow would be better; he's engaged for every other day. Now don't go and say you're engaged tomorrow. If you are, you'll have to chuck it!' 'Oh no; I'm not engaged.' Mentally rearranging her evening dress, Edith drove home thoughtfully. She was attracted and did not know why, and for the first time hoped she had made | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044877 | an impression. It had been a long evening, and her headache, she said, necessitated solitude and darkness at once. 'All right. I've got a much worse headache--gout, I think, but never mind about me. Don't be anxious, dear! I say, that Miss Mooney is a very charming woman. She took rather a fancy to me, Edith. Er--you might ask her | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044878 | to dinner too, if you like, to make a fourth!' 'But--really! Ought we to snatch all the Mitchells' friends the first time, Bruce?' 'Why, of course, it's only courteous. It's all right. One must return their hospitality.' The Visit The following afternoon Edith was standing by the piano in her condensed white drawing-room, trying over a song, which she was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044879 | accompanying with one hand, when to her surprise the maid announced 'Mr Aylmer Ross.' It was a warm day, and though there was a fire the windows were open, letting in the scent of the mauve and pink hyacinths in the little window-boxes. She thought as she came forward to meet him that he seemed entirely different from last night. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044880 | Her first impression was that he was too big for the room, her second that he was very handsome, and also a little agitated. 'I really hardly know how to apologise, Mrs Ottley. I oughtn't to have turned up in this cool way. But your husband has kindly asked me to dine with you tonight, and I wasn't sure of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044881 | the time. I thought I'd come and ask you.' He waited a minute. 'Of course, if I hadn't been so fortunate as to find you in, I should just have left a note.' He looked round the room. * * * * * Obviously it was quite unnecessary for him to have called; he could have sent the note that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044882 | he had brought with him. She was flattered. She thought that she liked his voice and the flash of his white teeth when he smiled. 'Oh, I'm glad I'm at home,' she said, in a gentle way that put him at his ease, and yet at an immense distance. 'I felt in the mood to stop at home and play | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044883 | the piano today. I'm delighted to see you.' They sat down by the fire. 'It's at eight tonight. Shall we have tea?' 'Oh no, thanks; isn't it too early? I sha'n't keep you a moment. Thanks very much.... You were playing something when I came in. I wish you'd play it to me over again.' * * * * * | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044884 | Nine women out of ten would have refused, saying they knew nothing of music, or that they were out of practice, or that they never played except for their own amusement, or something of the kind; especially if they took no pride whatever in that accomplishment. But Edith went back to the piano at once, and went on trying over | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044885 | the song that she didn't know, without making any excuse for the faltering notes. 'That's charming,' he said. 'Thanks. Tosti, of course.' She came back to the fireplace. 'Of course. We had great fun last night, didn't we?' 'Oh, _I_ enjoyed myself immensely; part of the time at least.' 'But after dinner you were rather horrid, Mr Ross. You wouldn't | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044886 | come and talk to me, would you?' 'Wouldn't I? I was afraid. Tell me, do I seem many years older since last night?' he asked. 'I don't see any difference. Why?' 'Because I've lived months--almost years--since I saw you last. Time doesn't go by hours, does it?... What a charming little room this is. It suits you. There's hardly anything | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044887 | in it, but everything is right.' 'I don't like to have many things in a room,' said Edith, holding out her delicate hands to the fire. 'It makes me nervous. I have gradually accustomed Bruce to my idea by removing one thing at a time --photographs, pictures, horrid old wedding presents, all the little things people have. They suggest too | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044888 | many different trains of thought. They worry me. He's getting used to it now. He says, soon there'll be nothing left but a couple of chairs and a bookcase!' 'And how right! I've had rather the same idea in my house, but I couldn't keep it up. It's different for a man alone; things seem to accumulate; especially pictures. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044889 | know such a lot of artists. I'm very unfortunate in that respect.... I really feel I oughtn't to have turned up like this, Mrs Ottley.' 'Why not?' 'You're very kind.... Excuse my country manners, but how nice your husband is. He was very kind to me.' 'He liked _you_ very much, too.' 'He seems charming,' he repeated, then said with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044890 | a change of tone and with his occasional impulsive brusqueness, 'I wonder--does he ever jar on you in any way?' 'Oh no. Never. He couldn't. He amuses me,' Edith replied softly. 'Oh, does he?... If I had the opportunity I wonder if I should _amuse_ you,' he spoke thoughtfully. 'No; I don't think you would at all,' said Edith, looking | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044891 | him straight in the face. 'That's quite fair,' he laughed, and seemed rather pleased. 'You mean I should bore you to death! Do forgive me, Mrs Ottley. Let's go on with our talk of last night.... I feel it's rather like the Palace of Truth here; I don't know why. There must be something in the atmosphere--I seem to find | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044892 | it difficult not to think aloud--Vincy, now--do you see much of Vincy?' 'Oh yes; he comes here most days, or we talk on the telephone.' 'I see; he's your confidant, and you're his. Dear Vincy. By the way, he asked me last night to go to a tea-party at his flat next week. He was going to ask one or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044893 | two other kindred spirits--as I think they're called. To see something--some collection. Including you, of course?' 'I shall certainly go,' said Edith, 'whether he asks me or not.' Aylmer seemed to be trying to leave. He nearly got up once or twice and sat down again. 'Well, I shall see you tonight,' he said. 'At eight.' 'Yes.' 'What shall you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044894 | wear, Mrs Ottley?' 'Oh, I thought, perhaps, my mauve chiffon? What do you advise?' she smiled. 'Not what you wore last night?' 'Oh no.' 'It was very jolly. I liked it. Er--red, wasn't it?' 'Oh no! It was pink!' she answered. Then there was an extraordinary pause, in which neither of them seemed able to think of anything to say. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044895 | There was a curious sort of vibration in the air. 'Isn't it getting quite springy?' said Edith, as she glanced at the window. 'It's one of those sort of warm days that seem to have got mixed up by mistake with the winter.' 'Very,' was his reply, which was not very relevant. Another pause was beginning. 'Mr Vincy,' announced the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044896 | servant. He was received with enthusiasm, and Aylmer Ross now recovered his ease and soon went away. 'Edith!' said Vincy, in a reproving tone. '_Really_! How _very_ soon!' 'He came to know what time we dine. He was just passing.' 'Oh, yes. He would want to know. He lives in Jermyn Street. I suppose Knightsbridge is on his way to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044897 | there.' 'From where?' she asked. 'From here,' said Vincy. 'What happened after we left?' said Edith. 'I saw the Cricker man beginning to dance with hardly anyone looking at him.' 'Isn't his imitation of Nijinsky wonderful?' asked Vincy. 'Simply marvellous! I thought he was imitating George Grossmith. Do you know, I love the Mitchells, Vincy. It's really great fun there. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044898 | Fancy, Bruce seems so delighted with Aylmer Ross and Miss Mooney that he insisted on their both dining with us tonight.' 'He seemed rather carried away, I thought. There's a fascination about Aylmer. There are so many things he's not,' said Vincy. 'Tell me some of them.' 'Well, for one thing, he's not fatuous, though he's so good-looking. He's not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044899 | a lady-killing sort of person or anything else tedious.' She was delighted at this especially. 'If he took a fancy to a person--well, it might be rather serious, if you take my meaning,' said Vincy. 'How sweet of him! So unusual. Do you like Myra Mooney?' 'Me? Oh, rather; I'm devoted to her. She's a delightful type. Get her on | 60 | gutenberg |
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