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twg_000000044900 | to the subject of the red carnations. She's splendid about them.... She received them every day at breakfast-time for fifteen years. Another jolly thing about Aylmer is that he has none of that awful old-fashioned modernness, thank goodness!' 'Ah, I noticed that.' 'I suppose he wasn't brilliant today. He was too thrilled. But, do be just a teeny bit careful, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044901 | Edith dear, because when he is at all he's very much so. Do you see?' 'What a lot you seem to think of one little visit, Vincy! After all, it was only one.' 'There hasn't been time yet for many more, has there, Edith dear? He could hardly call twice the same day, on the first day, too.... Yes, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044902 | come over quite queer and you might have knocked me down with a feather, in a manner of speaking, when I clapped eyes on him setting here.' Edith liked Vincy to talk in his favourite Cockney strain. It contrasted pleasantly with his soft, even voice and _raffin_ appearance. 'Here's Bruce,' she said. Bruce came in carrying an enormous basket of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044903 | gilded straw. It was filled with white heather, violets, lilies, jonquils, gardenias and mimosa. The handle was trimmed with mauve ribbon. 'Oh, Bruce! How angelic of you!' 'Don't be in such a hurry, dear. These are not from me. They arrived just at the same time that I did. Brought by a commissionaire. There was hardly room for it in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044904 | the lift.' Edith looked quickly at the card. It bore the name of the minister of the place with a name like Ruritania. 'What cheek!' exclaimed Bruce, who was really flattered. 'What infernal impertinence. Upon my word I've more than half a mind to go and tell him what I think of him--straight from the shoulder. What's the address?' 'Grosvenor | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044905 | Square.' 'Well, I don't care. I shall go straight to the embassy,' said Bruce. 'No, I sha'n't. I'll send them back and write him a line--tell him that Englishwomen are not in the habit of accepting presents from undesirable aliens.... I consider it a great liberty. Aren't I right, Vincy?' 'Quite. But perhaps he means no harm, Bruce. I daresay | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044906 | it's the custom in the place with the funny name. You see, you never know, in a place like that.' 'Then you don't think I ought to take it up?' 'I don't want them. It's a very oppressive basket,' Edith said. 'How like you, Edith! I thought you were fond of flowers.' 'So I am, but I like one at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044907 | a time. This is too miscellaneous and crowded.' 'Some women are never satisfied. It's very rude and ungrateful to the poor old man, who meant to be nice, no doubt, and to show his respect for Englishwomen. I think you ought to write and thank him,' said Bruce. 'And let me see the letter before it goes.' Coup de Foudre | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044908 | When Aylmer Ross got back to the little brown house in Jermyn Street he went to his library, and took from a certain drawer an ivory miniature framed in black. He looked at it for some time. It had a sweet, old-fashioned face, with a very high forehead, blue eyes, and dark hair arranged in two festoons of plaits, turned | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044909 | up at the sides. It represented his mother in the early sixties and he thought it was like Edith. He had a great devotion and cult for the memory of his mother. When he was charmed with a woman he always imagined her to be like his mother. He had never thought this about his wife People had said how | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044910 | extraordinarily Aylmer must have been in love to have married that uninteresting girl, no-one in particular, not pretty and a little second-rate. As a matter of fact the marriage had happened entirely by accident. It had occurred through a misunderstanding during a game of consequences in a country house. She was terribly literal. Having taken some joke of his seriously, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044911 | she had sent him a touchingly coy letter saying she was overwhelmed at his offer (feeling she was hardly worthy to be his wife) and must think it over. He did not like to hurt her feelings by explaining, and when she relented and accepted him he couldn't bear to tell her the truth. He was absurdly tender-hearted, and he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044912 | thought that, after all, it didn't matter so very much. The little house left him by his mother needed a mistress; he would probably marry somebody or other, anyhow; and she seemed such a harmless little thing. It would please her so much! When the hurried marriage had come to a pathetic end by her early death everyone was tragic | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044913 | about it except Aylmer. All his friends declared he was heart-broken and lonely and would never marry again. He had indeed been shocked and grieved at her death, but only for her--not at being left alone. That part, was a relief. The poor little late Mrs Aylmer Ross had turned out a terrible mistake. She had said the wrong thing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044914 | from morning till night, and, combining a prim, refined manner with a vulgar point of view, had been in every way dreadfully impossible. He had really been patience and unselfishness itself to her, but he had suffered. The fact was, he had never even liked her. That was the reason he had not married again. But he was devoted to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044915 | his boy in a quiet way. He was the sort of man who is adored by children, animals, servants and women. Tall, strong and handsome, with intelligence beyond the average, yet with nothing alarming about him, good-humoured about trifles, jealous in matters of love--perhaps that is, after all, the type women really like best. It is sheer nonsense to say | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044916 | that women enjoy being tyrannised over. No doubt there are some who would rather be bullied than ignored. But the hectoring man is, with few exceptions, secretly detested. In so far as one can generalise (always a dangerous thing to do) it may be said that women like best a kind, clever man who can be always trusted; and occasionally | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044917 | (if necessary) deceived. Aylmer hardly ever got angry except in an argument about ideas. Yet his feelings were violent; he was impulsive, and under his suave and easy-going manner emotional. He was certainly good-looking, but had he not been he would have pleased all the same. He seemed to radiate warmth, life, a certain careless good-humour. To be near him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044918 | was like warming one's hands at a warm fire. Superficially susceptible and inclined to be experimental he had not the instinct of the collector and was devoid of fatuousness. But he could have had more genuine successes than all the Don Juans and Romeos and Fausts who ever climbed rope ladders. Besides his physical attraction he inspired a feeling of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044919 | reliance. Women felt safe with him; he would never treat anyone badly. He inspired that kind of trust enormously in men also, and his house was constantly filled with people asking his advice and begging him to do things--sometimes not very easy ones. He was always being left guardian to young persons who would never require one, and said himself | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044920 | he had become almost a professional trustee. As Aylmer was generous and very extravagant in a way of his own (though he cared nothing for show), he really worked hard at the bar to add to his already large income. He always wanted a great deal of money. He required ease, margin and elbow-room. He had no special hobbies, but | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044921 | he needed luxury in general of a kind, and especially the luxury of getting things in a hurry, his theory being that everything comes to the man who won't wait. He was not above detesting little material hardships. He was not the sort of man, for instance, even in his youngest days, who would go by omnibus to the gallery | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044922 | to the opera, to hear a favourite singer or a special performance; not that he had the faintest tinge of snobbishness, but simply because such trifling drawbacks irritated him, and spoilt his pleasure. Impressionistic as he was in life, on the other hand, curiously, Aylmer's real taste in art and decoration was Pre-Raphaelite; delicate, detailed and meticulous almost to preciousness. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044923 | He often had delightful things in his house, but never for long. He had no pleasure in property; valuable possessions worried him, and after any amount of trouble to get some object of art he would often give it away the next week. For he really liked money only for freedom and ease. The general look of the house was, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044924 | consequently, distinguished, sincere and extremely comfortable. It was neither hackneyed nor bizarre, and, while it contained some interesting things, had no superfluities. Aylmer had been spoilt as a boy and was still wilful and a little impatient. For instance he could never wait even for a boy-messenger, but always sent his notes by taxi to wait for an answer. And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044925 | now he wanted something in a hurry, and was very much afraid he would never get it. Aylmer was, as I have said, often a little susceptible. This time he felt completely bowled over. He had only seen her twice. That made no difference. The truth was--it sounds romantic, but is really scientific, all romance being, perhaps, based on science--that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044926 | Edith's appearance corresponded in every particular with an ideal that had grown up with him. Whether he had seen some picture as a child that had left a vague and lasting impression, or whatever the reason was, the moment he saw her he felt, with a curious mental sensation, as of something that fell into its place with a click | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044927 | ('a y est!'), that she realised some half-forgotten dream. In fact, it was a rare and genuine case of _coup de foudre_. Had she been a girl he would have proposed to her the next day, and they might quite possibly have married in a month, and lived happily ever after. These things occasionally happen. But she was married already. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044928 | Had she been a fool, or a bore, a silly little idiot or a fisher of men, a social sham who prattled of duchesses or a strenuous feminine politician who babbled of votes; a Christian Scientist bent on converting, an adventuress without adventures (the worst kind), a mind-healer or a body-snatcher, a hockey-player or even a lady novelist, it would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044929 | have been exactly the same; whatever she had been, mentally or morally, he would undoubtedly have fallen in love with her physically, at first sight. But it was very much worse than that. He found her delightful, and clever; he was certain she was an angel. She was married to Ottley. Ottley was all right.... Rather an ass ... rather | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044930 | ridiculous; apparently in every way but one. * * * * * So absurdly hard hit was Aylmer that it seemed to him as if to see her again as soon as possible was already the sole object in his life. Did she like him? Intuitively he felt that during his little visit his intense feeling had radiated, and not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044931 | displeased--perhaps a little impressed--her. He could easily, he knew, form a friendship with them; arrange to see her often. He was going to meet her tonight, through his own arrangement. He would get them to come and dine with him soon--no, the next day. What was the good? Well, where was the harm? Aylmer had about the same code of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044932 | morals as the best of his numerous friends in Bohemia, in clubland and in social London. He was no more scrupulous on most subjects than the ordinary man of his own class. Still, _he had been married himself_. That made an immense difference, for he was positively capable of seeing (and with sympathy) from the husband's point of view. Even | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044933 | now, indifferent as he had been to his own wife, and after ten years, it would have caused him pain and fury had he found out that she had ever tried to play him false. Of course, cases varied. He knew that if Edith had been free his one thought would have been to marry her. Had she been different, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044934 | and differently placed, he would have blindly tried for anything he could get, in any possible way. But, as she was?... He felt convinced he could never succeed in making her care for him; there was not the slightest chance of it. And, supposing even that he could? And here came in the delicacy and scruple of the man who | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044935 | had been married himself. He thought he wouldn't even wish to spoil, by the vulgarity of compromising, or by the shadow of a secret, the serenity of her face, the gay prettiness of that life. No, he wouldn't if he could. And yet how exciting it would be to rouse her from that cool composure. She was rather enigmatic. But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044936 | he thought she could be roused. And she was so clever. How well she would carry it off! How she would never bore a man! And he suddenly imagined a day with her in the country.... Then he thought that his imagination was flying on far too fast. He decided not to be a hopeless fool, but just to go | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044937 | ahead, and talk to her, and get to know her; not to think too much about her. She needn't even know how he felt. To idolise her from a distance would be quite delightful enough. When a passion is not realised, he thought, it fades away, or becomes ideal worship --Dante--Petrarch--that sort of thing! It could never fade away in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044938 | this case, he was sure. How pretty she was, how lovely her mouth was when she smiled! She had no prejudices, apparently; no affectations; how she played and sang that song again when he asked her! With what a delightful sense of humour she had dealt with him, and also with Bruce, at the Mitchells. Ottley must be a little | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044939 | difficult sometimes. She had read and thought; she had the same tastes as he. He wondered if she would have liked that thing in _The Academy_, on Gardens, that he had just read. He began looking for it. He thought he would send it to her, asking her opinion; then he would get an answer, and see her handwriting. You | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044940 | don't know a woman until you have had a letter from her. But no--what a fool he would look! Besides he was going to see her tonight. It was about time to get ready.... Knowing subconsciously that he had made some slight favourable impression--at any rate that he hadn't repelled or bored her--he dressed with all the anxiety, joy and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044941 | thrills of excitement of a boy of twenty; and no boy of twenty can ever feel these things as keenly or half as elaborately as a man nearly twice that age, since all the added experiences, disillusions, practice, knowledge and life of the additional years help to form a part of the same emotion, making it infinitely deeper, and all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044942 | the stronger because so much more _averti_ and conscious of itself. He seemed so nervous while dressing that Soames, the valet, to whom he was a hero, ventured respectfully to hope there was nothing wrong. 'No. I'm all right,' said Aylmer. 'I'm never ill. I think, Soames, I shall probably die of middle age.' He went out laughing, leaving the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044943 | valet smiling coldly out of politeness. * * * * * Soames never understood any kind of jest. He took himself and everyone else seriously. But he already knew perfectly well that his master had fallen in love last night, and he disapproved very strongly. He thought all that sort of thing ought to be put a stop to. Archie's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044944 | Essay 'Mrs Ottley,' said Miss Townsend,' do you mind looking at this essay of Archie's? I really don't know what to think of it. I think it shows talent, except the spelling. But it's _very_ naughty of him to have written what is at the end.' Edith took the paper and read: 'TRAYS OF CHARACTER trays of character will always | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044945 | show threw how ever much you may polish it up trays of character will always show threw the grane of the wood. A burd will keep on singing because he wants to and they can't help doing what it wants this is instinkt. and it is the same with trays of charicter. having thus shown my theory that trays of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044946 | carocter will always show threw in spite of all trubble and in any circemstances whatever I will conclude Archibald Bruce Ottley please t.o.' On the other side of the paper was written very neatly, still in Archie's writing: ' LINDEN MANSIONS, CADOGAN SQUARE, KNIGHTSBRIDGE. _Second Floor_ . Mr Bruce Ottley (FO) . Mrs Bruce Ottley . Master Archibald Bruce Ottley | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044947 | . Little _beast_ . Mary Johnson housemaid . Miss Thrupp Cook . Marie maid . Dorothy Margaret Miss Townsend governess . Ellen Maud Parrot nurse.' 'Do you see?' said Miss Townsend. 'It's his way of slyly calling poor Dilly a beast, because he's angry with her. Isn't it a shame? What shall I do?' Both of them laughed and enjoyed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044948 | it. 'Archie, what is the meaning of this? Why did you make this census of your home?' Edith asked him gently. 'Why, I didn't make senses of my home; I just wrote down who lived here.' Edith looked at him reproachfully. 'Well, I didn't call Dilly a beast. I haven't broken Miss Townsend's rules. She made a new rule I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044949 | wasn't to call her a beast before breakfast--' 'What, you're allowed to call her these awful names after breakfast?' 'No. She made a rule before breakfast I wasn't to call Dilly a beast, and I haven't. How did you know it meant her anyway? It might have meant somebody else.' 'That's prevaricating; it's mean--not like you, Archie.' 'Well, I never | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044950 | called her a beast. No-one can say I did. And besides, anybody would have called her a beast after how she went on.' 'What are you angry with the child for?' 'Oh, she bothers so. The moment I imitate the man with the German accent she begins to cry. She says she doesn't like me to do it. She says | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044951 | she can't bear me to. Then she goes and tells Miss Townsend I slapped her, and Miss Townsend blames me.' 'Then you shouldn't have slapped her; it was horrid of you; you ought to remember she's a little girl and weaker than you.' 'I did remember...' 'Oh, Archie!' 'Well, I'll make it up if she begs my pardon; not unless | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044952 | she does I sha'n't,' said Archie magnanimously. 'I shall certainly not allow her to do anything of the kind.' At this moment Dilly came in, with her finger in her tiny mouth, and went up to Archie, drawling with a pout, and in a whining voice: 'I didn't mean to.' Archie beamed at once. 'That's all right, Dilly,' he said | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044953 | forgivingly. Then he turned to his mother. 'Mother, have you got that paper?' 'Yes, I have indeed!' 'Well, cross out--that, and put in Aspasia Matilda Ottley. Sorry, Dilly!' He kissed her, and they ran off together hand in hand; looking like cherubs, and laughing musically. Aylmer At the Carlton Aylmer had easily persuaded Bruce and Edith to dine with him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044954 | next day, although they were engaged to the elder Mrs Ottley already. He said he expected two or three friends, and he convinced them they must come too. It is only in London that people meet for the first time at a friend's house, and then, if they take to each other, practically live together for weeks after. No matter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044955 | what social engagements they may happen to have, these are all thrown aside for the new friend. London people, with all their correctness, are really more unconventional than any other people in the world. For instance, in Paris such a thing could never happen in any kind of _monde_, unless, perhaps, it were among artists and Bohemians; and even then | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044956 | it would be their great object to prove to one another that they were not wanting in distractions and were very much in demand; the lady, especially, would make the man wait for an opportunity of seeing her again, from calculation, to make herself seem of more value. Such second-rate solicitudes would never even occur to Edith. But she had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044957 | a scruple about throwing over old Mrs Ottley. * * * * * 'Won't your mother be disappointed?' Edith asked. 'My dear Edith, you can safely leave that to me. Of course she'll be disappointed, but you can go round and see her, and speak to her nicely and tell her that after all we can't come because we've got | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044958 | another engagement.' 'And am I to tell her it's a subsequent one? Otherwise she'll wonder we didn't mention it before.' 'Don't be in a hurry, dear. Don't rush things; remember... she's my mother. Perhaps to you, Edith, it seems a rather old-fashioned idea, and I daresay you think it's rot, but to me there's something very sacred about the idea | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044959 | of a mother.' He lit a cigarette and looked in the glass. 'Yes, dear. Then, don't you think we really ought to have kept our promise to dine with her? She'll probably be looking forward to it. I daresay she's asked one or two people she thinks we like, to meet us.' 'Circumstances alter cases, Edith. If it comes to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044960 | that, Aylmer Ross has got two or three people coming to dine with him whom he thinks we might like. He said so himself. That's why he's asked us.' 'Yes, but he can't have asked them on purpose, Bruce, because, you see, we didn't know him on Thursday.' 'Well, why should he have asked them on purpose? _How_ you argue! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044961 | _How_ you go on! It really seems to me you're getting absurdly exacting and touchy, Edith dear. I believe all those flowers from the embassy have positively turned your head. _Why_ should he have asked them on purpose. You admit yourself that we didn't even know the man last Thursday, and yet you expect--' Bruce stopped. He had got into | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044962 | a slight tangle. Edith looked away. She had not quite mastered the art of the inward smile. 'Far better, in my opinion,' continued Bruce, walking up and down the room.--'Now, don't interrupt me in your impulsive way, but hear me out--it would be far more kind and sensible in every way for you to sit right down at that little | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044963 | writing-table, take out your stylographic pen and write and tell my mother that I have a bad attack of influenza.... Yes; one should always be considerate to one's parents. I suppose it really is the way I was brought up that makes me feel this so keenly,' he explained. Edith sat down to the writing-table. 'How bad is your influenza?' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044964 | 'Oh, not very bad; because it would worry her: a slight attack.--Stop! Not so very slight--we must let her think it's the ordinary kind, and then she'll think it's catching and she won't come here for a few days, and that will avoid our going into the matter in detail, which would be better.' 'If she thinks it's catching, dear, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044965 | she'll want Archie and Dilly, and Miss Townsend and Nurse to go and stay with her in South Kensington, and that will be quite an affair.' 'Right as usual; very thoughtful of you; you're a clever little woman sometimes, Edith. Wait!'--he put up his hand with a gesture frequent with him, like a policeman stopping the traffic at Hyde Park | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044966 | Corner. 'Wait!--leave out the influenza altogether, and just say I've caught a slight chill.' 'Yes. Then she'll come over at once, and you'll have to go to bed.' 'My dear Edith,' said Bruce, 'you're over-anxious; I shall do nothing of the kind. There's no need that I should be laid up for this. It's not serious.' He was beginning to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044967 | believe in his own illness, as usual. 'Air! (I want to go round to the club)--tonic treatment!--that's the thing!--that's often the very best thing for a chill--this sort of chill.... Ah, that will do very nicely. Very neatly written.... Good-bye, dear.' * * * * * As soon as Bruce had gone out Edith rang up the elder Mrs Ottley | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044968 | on the telephone, and relieved her anxiety in advance. They were great friends; the sense of humour possessed by her mother-in-law took the sting out of the relationship. * * * * * The dinner at Aylmer's house was a great success. Bruce enjoyed himself enormously, for he liked nothing better in the world than to give his opinion. And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044969 | Aylmer was specially anxious for his view as to the authenticity of a little Old Master he had acquired, and took notes, also, of a word of advice with regard to electric lighting, admitting he was not a very practical man, and Bruce evidently was. Edith was interested and pleased to go to the house of her new friend and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044970 | to reconstruct the scene as it must have been when Mrs Aylmer Ross had been there. Freddy, the boy, was at school, but there was a portrait of him. Evidently he resembled his father. The sketch represented him with the same broad forehead, smooth, dense light hair, pale blue eyes under eyebrows with a slight frown in them, and the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044971 | charming mouth rather fully curved, expressing an amiable and pleasure-loving nature. The boy was good-looking, but not, Edith thought, as handsome as Aylmer. The only other woman present was Lady Everard, a plump, talkative, middle-aged woman in black; the smiling widow of Lord Everard, and well known for her lavish musical hospitality and her vague and indiscriminate good nature. She | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044972 | bristled with aigrettes and sparkled with diamonds and determination. She was marvellously garrulous about nothing in particular. She was a woman who never stopped talking for a single moment, but in a way that resembled leaking rather than laying down the law. Tepidly, indifferently and rather amusingly she prattled on without ceasing, on every subject under the sun, and was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044973 | socially a valuable help because where she was there was never an awkward pause--or any other kind. Vincy was there and young Cricker, whose occasional depressed silences were alternated with what he called a certain amount of sparkling chaff. Lady Everard told Edith that she felt quite like a sort of mother to Aylmer. 'Don't you think it's sad, Mrs | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044974 | Ottley,' she said, when they were alone, 'to think that the dear fellow has no wife to look after this dear little house? It always seems to me such a pity, but still, I always say, at any rate Aylmer's married once, and that's more than most of them do nowadays. It's simply horse's work to get them to do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044975 | it at all. Sometimes I think it's perfectly disgraceful. And yet I can't help seeing how sensible it is of them too; you know, when you think of it, what with one thing and another, what does a man of the present day need a wife for? What with the flats, where everything on earth is done for them, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044976 | the kindness of friends--just think how bachelors are spoilt by their married friends!--and their clubs, and the frightful expense of everything, it seems to me, as a general rule, that the average man must be madly unselfish or a perfect idiot to marry at all--that's what it seems to me--don't you? When you think of all the responsibilities they take | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044977 | upon themselves!--and I'm sure there are not many modern wives who expect to do anything on earth but have their bills and bridge debts paid, and their perpetual young men asked to dinner, and one thing and another. Of course, though, there are some exceptions.' She smiled amiably. 'Aylmer tells me you have two children; very sweet of you, I'm | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044978 | sure. What darling pets they must be! Angels!--Angels! Oh, I'm so fond of children! But, particularly--isn't it funny?--when they're not there, because I can't stand their noise. Now my little grandchildren--my daughter Eva's been married ten years--Lady Lindley, you know--hers are perfect pets and heavenly angels, but I can't stand them for more than a few minutes at a time. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044979 | I have nerves, so much so, do you know (partly because I go in a good deal for music and intellect and so on), so much so, that I very nearly had a rest cure at the end of last season, and I should have had, probably, but that new young French singer came over with a letter of introduction | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044980 | to me, and of course I couldn't desert him, but had to do my very best. Ever heard him sing? Yes, you would, of course. Oh, how wonderful it is!' Edith waited in vain for a pause to say she didn't know the name of the singer. Lady Everard went on, leaning comfortably back in Aylmer's arm-chair. 'Willie Cricker dances | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044981 | very prettily, too; he came to one of my evenings and had quite a success. Only an amateur, of course; but rather nice. However, like all amateurs he wants to perform only when people would rather he didn't, and when they want him to he won't; he refuses. That's the amateur all over. The professional comes up to the scratch | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044982 | when wanted and stops when the performance is not required. It's all the difference in the world, isn't it, Mrs Ottley? Still, he's a nice boy. Are you fond of music?' 'Very. Really fond of it; but I'm only a listener.' Lady Everard seemed delighted and brightened up. 'Oh, you don't sing or play?--you must come to one of my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044983 | Musical Evenings. We have all the stars in the season at times--dear Melba and Caruso--and darling Bemberk and dear Debussy! Oh! don't laugh at my enthusiasm, my dear; but I'm quite music-mad--and then, of course, we have any amount of amateurs, and all the new young professionals that are coming on. In my opinion Paul La France, that's the young | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044984 | man I was telling you about, will be one of the very very best--quite at the top of the tree, and I'm determined he shall. But of course, he needs care and encouragement. I think of his giving a _Confrence_, in which he'll lecture on his own singing. I shall be on the platform to make a sort of introductory | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044985 | speech and Monti, of course, will accompany. He is the only accompanist that counts. But then I suppose he's been accompanying somebody or other ever since he was a little boy, so it's second nature to him. And you must come, and bring your husband. Does he go with you to places? Very nice of him. Nowadays if husbands and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044986 | wives don't occasionally go to the same parties they have hardly any opportunity of meeting at all; that's what I always say. But then, of course, _you're_ still almost on your honeymoon, aren't you? Charming!' In the dining-room Cricker was confiding in Aylmer, while Vincy and Bruce discussed the Old Master. 'Awful, you know,' Cricker said, in a low voice--' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044987 | this girl's mania for me! I get wires and telephones all day long; she hardly gives me time to shave. And she's jolly pretty, so I don't like to chuck it; in fact, I daren't. But her one cry is 'Cold; cold; cold!' She says I'm as cold as a stone. What do you thing of that?' 'You may be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044988 | a stone, and a rolling one at that, said Aylmer, 'but there are other pebbles on the beach, I daresay.' 'I bet not one of them as stony as I am!' cried Cricker. Cricker came a little nearer, lowering his voice again. 'It's a very peculiar case,' he said proudly. 'Of course; it always is.' 'You see, she's frightfully pretty, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044989 | on the stage, and married! One of the most awkward positions a person can be in. Mind you, I'm sorry for her. I thought of consulting you about something if you'll give me a minute or two, old chap.' He took out a letter-case. 'I don't mean Ill show you this--oh no, I can't show it--it isn't compromising.' 'Of course | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044990 | not. No-one really likes to show a really lukewarm love letter. Besides it would hardly be--' Cricker put the case back. My dear chap! I wasn't going to show it to you--I shouldn't dream of such a thing--to anybody; but I was just going to read you out a sentence from which you can form an opinion of my predicament. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044991 | It's no good mincing matters, old boy, the woman is crazy mad about me--there you've got it straight--in a nutshell.--Crazy!' 'She certainly can't be very sane,' returned Aylmer. Before the end of the evening Aylmer had arranged to take the Ottleys to see a play that was having a run. After this he dropped in to tea to discuss it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044992 | and Bruce kept him to dinner. Day after day went on, and they saw him continually. He had never shown by word or manner any more of his sentiment than on the second occasion when they had met but Edith was growing thoroughly accustomed to this new interest, and it certainly gave a zest to her existence, for she knew, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044993 | as women do know, or at any rate she believed, that she had an attraction for him, which he didn't intend to give away. The situation was pleasant and notwithstanding Vincy's slight anxiety, she persisted in seeing nothing in it to fear in any way. Aylmer didn't even flirt. One day, at Vincy's rooms, she thought he seemed different. Vincy, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044994 | with all his gentle manner, had in art an extraordinary taste for brutality and violence, and his rooms were covered with pictures by Futurists and Cubists, wild studies by wild men from Tahiti and a curious collection of savage ornaments and weapons. 'I don't quite see Vincy handling that double-edged Chinese sword, do you? said Aylmer, laughing. 'No, nor do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044995 | I; but I do like to look at it,' Vincy said. They went into the little dining-room, which was curiously furnished with a green marble dining-table, narrow, as in the pictures of the Last Supper, at which the guests could sit on one side only to be waited on from the other. On it as decoration (it was laid for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044996 | two, side by side) were some curious straw mats, a few laurel leaves, a little marble statuette of Pan, and three Tangerine oranges. 'Oh, Vincy, do tell me--what are you going to eat tonight?' Edith exclaimed. 'Unless you're with other people I can never imagine you sitting down to a proper meal.' Eat? Oh a nice orange, I think,' said | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044997 | he. Sometimes when I'm alone I just have a nice egg and a glass of water, I do myself very well. Don't worry about me, Edith.' When they were alone for a moment Aylmer looked out of the window. It was rather high up, and they looked down on the hustling crowds of people pushing along through the warm air | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044998 | in Victoria Street. 'It's getting decent weather,' he said. 'Yes, quite warm.' They always suddenly talked commonplaces when they were first left alone. 'I may be going away pretty soon,' he said. 'Going away! Oh, where?' 'I'm not quite sure yet.' There was a pause. 'Well, you'll come to tea tomorrow, won't you? said Edith. 'Yes, indeed, thank you--thank you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044999 | so much. I shall look forward to it. At five?' He spoke formally. 'At four,' said Edith. 'I shall be lunching not very far from you tomorrow.' 'At a quarter to four,' said Edith. 'I wonder who this other place is laid for,' said Aylmer, looking at the table. 'How indiscreet of you! So do I. One must find out.' | 60 | gutenberg |
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