id stringlengths 16 16 | text stringlengths 151 2.3k | word_count int64 30 60 | source stringclasses 1
value |
|---|---|---|---|
twg_000000045300 | say is that--Well, good night; I sha'n't be long.' Edith was really delighted, she felt she had won, and she _did_ want that horrid little Townsend to be scored off! Wasn't it natural? She wanted to hear no more about it. There was a ring. It was nine o'clock. It was Aylmer's voice. The Great Exception The absurdly simple explanation, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045301 | made almost in dumb show, by action rather than in dialogue, was soon given. He was surprised, simply enchanted, at the entire frankness of her recognition; she acknowledged openly that it mattered to her tremendously whether or not he was on intimate terms or flirting with little Miss Argles, or with little Miss anybody. He was not even to look | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045302 | at any woman except herself, that was arranged between them now and understood. They were side by side, with hands clasped as a matter of course, things taken for granted that he formerly never dreamt of. The signs of emotion in her face he attributed of course to the morning's contretemps, knowing nothing of the other trouble. 'It's heavenly being | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045303 | here again. You're prettier than ever, Edith; sweeter than ever. What a time I had away. It got worse and worse.' 'Dear Aylmer!' 'You're far too good and kind to me. But I _have_ suffered--awfully.' 'So have I, since this morning. I felt--' 'What did you feel? Tell me!' 'Must I?' 'Yes!' 'I felt, when I saw you with her, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045304 | as if I hadn't got a friend in the world. I felt quite alone. I felt as if the ground were going to open and swallow me up. I relied on you so much, far more than I knew! I was struck dumb, and rooted to the spot, and knocked all of a heap, in a manner of speaking, as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045305 | Vincy would say,' Edith went on, laughing. 'But now, you've cured me thoroughly; you're such a _real_ person.' 'Angel!' She still left her hand in his. Her eyes were very bright, the result of few but salt tears, the corners of her mouth were lifted by a happy smile, not the tantalising, half-mocking smile he used to see. She was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045306 | changed, and was, he thought, more lovable--prettier; today's emotion had shaken her out of herself. The reaction of this evening gave a brilliancy to her eyes, happy curves to her lips, and the slight disarrangement of her hair, not quite silky-smooth tonight, gave her a more irresponsible look. She seemed more careless--younger. 'Where's Bruce?' Aylmer asked suddenly. 'He's gone to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045307 | the club. He'll be back rather soon, I should think.' 'I won't wait. I would rather not meet him this evening. When shall I see you again?' 'Oh, I don't know. I don't think I want to make any plans now.' 'As you wish. I say, do you really think Vincy can care for that girl?' 'I believe he has | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045308 | had a very long friendship of some kind with her. He's never told me actually, but I've felt it,' Edith said. 'Is he in love with her? Can he be?' 'In a way--in one of his peculiar ways.' 'She's in love with him, I suppose,' said Aylmer. 'It was only because she thought it would please him that she wanted | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045309 | to see those things at the museum. I think she's a little anxious. I found her a wild, irritating, unaccountable, empty creature. I believe she wants him to marry her.' 'I hope he won't, unless he _really_ wants to,' said Edith. 'It would be a mistake for Vincy to sacrifice himself as much as that.' 'I hope indeed he won't,' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045310 | exclaimed Aylmer. 'And I think it's out of the question. Miss Argles is only an incident, surely. She looks the slightest of episodes.' 'It's a very long episode. It might end, though--if she insists and he won't.' 'Oh, bother, never mind them!' Aylmer replied, with boyish impatience. 'Let me look at _you_ again. Do you care for me a little | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045311 | bit, Edith?' 'Yes; I do.' 'Well, what's going to be done about it?' he asked, with happy triviality. 'Don't talk nonsense,' she replied. 'We're just going to see each other sometimes.' 'I'll be satisfied with anything!' cried Aylmer, 'after what I've suffered not seeing you at all. We'll have a new game. You shall _make_ the rules and I'll keep | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045312 | them.' 'Naturally.' 'About the summer?' 'Oh, no plans tonight. I must think.' She looked thoughtful. 'Tell me, how's Archie?' he said. 'Archie's all right--delightful. Dilly, too. But I'm rather bothered.' 'Why should you bother? What's it about? Tell me at once.' She paused a moment. 'Miss Townsend won't be able to come back any more,' she said steadily. 'Really? What | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045313 | a pity. I suppose the fool of a girl's engaged, or something.' 'She won't come back any more,' answered Edith. 'Will you have to get a new Miss Townsend?' 'I thought of being their governess myself--during the holidays, anyhow.' 'But that will leave you hardly any time--no leisure.' 'Leisure for what?' 'For anything--for me, for instance,' said Aylmer boldly. He | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045314 | was full of the courage and audacity caused by the immense relief of seeing her again and finding her so responsive. There is, of course, no joy so great as the cessation of pain; in fact all joy, active or passive, is the cessation of some pain, since it must be the satisfaction of a longing, even perhaps an unconscious | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045315 | longing. A desire is a sort of pain, even with hope, without it is despair. When, for example, one takes artistic pleasure in looking at something beautiful, that is a cessation of the pain of having been deprived of it until then, since what one enjoys one must have longed for even without knowing it. 'Look here,' said Aylmer suddenly. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045316 | 'I don't believe I can do without you.' 'You said _I_ was to make the rules.' 'Make them then; go on.' 'Well, we'll be intimate friends, and meet as often as we can. Once a week you may say you care for me, and I'll say the same. That's all. If you find you don't like it--can't stand it, as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045317 | you say--then you'll have to go away again.' 'I agree to it all, to every word. You'll see if I don't stick to it absolutely.' 'Thank you, dear Aylmer.' He paused. 'Then I mustn't kiss you?' 'No. Never again.' 'All right. Never again after tonight. Tonight is the great exception,' said Aylmer. She made a tardy and futile protest. Then | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045318 | she said: 'Now, Aylmer, you must go.' She sighed. 'I have a lot of worries.' 'I never heard you say that before. Let me take them and demolish them for you. Can't you give them to me?' 'No; I shall give nothing more to you. Good-bye.... 'Remember, there are to be no more exceptions,' said Edith. 'I promise.' She sat | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045319 | quietly alone for half-an-hour, waiting for Bruce. She now felt sorry for Bruce, utterly and completely indifferent about 'the Townsend case', as she already humorously called it to herself. But, she thought, she _must_ be strong! She was not prepared to lose her dignity, nor to allow the children to be educated by a woman whose faith at least with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045320 | them and in their home was unreliable; their surroundings must be crystal-clear. It would make a certain difference to them, she thought. How could it not? There were so many little ways in which she might spoil them or tease them, scamp things, or rush them, or be nicer to one of them, or less nice, if she had any | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045321 | sort of concealed relation with their father. And as she had been treated absolutely as a confidante by Edith, the girl had certainly shown herself treacherous, and rather too clearly capable of dissimulation. Edith thought this must have a bad effect on the children. Edith was essentially a very feminine woman though she had a mental attitude rightly held to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045322 | be more characteristic of men. Being so feminine, so enraged under her calm and ease, she was, of course, not completely consistent. She was still angry, and very scornful of Miss Townsend. She was hurt with her; she felt a friend had played her false--a friend, too, in the position of deepest trust, of grave responsibility. Miss Townsend knew perfectly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045323 | well what the children were to Edith, and, for all she knew, there was no-one in Edith's life except Bruce; so that it was rather cruel. Edith intended to keep up her dignity so absolutely that Miss Townsend could never see her again, that she could never speak to Edith on the subject. She wished also, _very_ much, that Bruce | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045324 | should never see her again, but didn't know how to encompass this. She must find a way. On the other hand, after the first shock and disgust at seeing him, Edith's anger with Bruce himself had entirely passed. Had she not known, for years, that he was a little weak, a little fatuous? He was just as good a sort | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045325 | now as he had ever been, and as she was not blinded by the resentment and fury of the real jealousy of passion, Edith saw clearly, and knew that Bruce cared far more for _her_ than for anybody else; that in so far as he could love anybody he loved her in his way. And she wanted to keep the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045326 | whole thing together on account of Archie, and for Dilly's sake. She must be so kind, yet so strong that Bruce would be at once grateful for her forbearance and afraid to take advantage of it. Rather a difficult undertaking!... And she had seen Aylmer again! There was nothing in it about Miss Argles. What happiness! She ought to have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045327 | trusted him. He cared for her. He loved her. His sentiment was worth having. And she cared for him too; how much she didn't quite know. She admired him; he fascinated her, and she also felt a deep gratitude because he gave her just the sort of passionate worship that she must have always unconsciously craved for. Certainly the two | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045328 | little events of today had drawn her nearer to him. She had been far less reserved that evening. She closed her eyes and smiled to herself. But this mustn't happen again. With a strong effort of self-coercion she banished all delightful recollections as she heard Bruce come up in the lift. He came in with a slightly shy, uncomfortable manner. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045329 | Again, she felt sorry for him. 'Hallo!' he said. He gave her a quick glance, a sort of cautious look which made her feel rather inclined to laugh. Then he said: 'I've just been down to the club. What have you been doing?' 'Aylmer's been here.' 'Didn't know he was in town.' 'He's only come for a few days.' 'I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045330 | should like to see him,' said Bruce, looking brighter. 'Did he ask after me?' 'Yes.' He looked at her again and said suspiciously: 'I suppose you didn't mention--' 'Mention what?' 'Edith!' 'Yes?' He cleared his throat and then said with an effort of self-assertion that she thought at once ridiculous and touching: 'Look here, I don't wish to blame you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045331 | in any way for what--er-- arrangements you like to make in your own household. But--er--have you written to Miss Townsend?' 'Yes; she won't come back.' 'Er--but won't she ask why?' 'I hope not.' 'Why?' asked Bruce, with a tinge of defiance. 'Because then I should have to explain. And I don't like explaining.' There was another pause. Bruce seemed to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045332 | take a great interest in his nails, which he examined separately one at a time, and then all together, holding both hands in front of him. 'Did Archie enjoy his day?' 'Oh yes,' said Edith. Bruce suddenly stood up, and a franker, more manly expression came into his face. He looked at her with a look of pain. Tears were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045333 | not far from his eyes. 'Edith, you're a brick. You're too good for me.' She looked down and away without answering. 'Look here, is there anything I can do to please you?' 'Yes, there is.' 'What? I'll do it, whatever it is, on my word of honour.' 'Well, it's a funny thing to ask you, but you know our late | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045334 | governess, Miss Townsend? I should like you to promise never to see her again, even by accident. If you meet her--by accident, I mean--I want you not to see her.' Bruce held out both his hands. 'I swear I'd never recognise her even if I should meet her accidentally.' 'I know it's a very odd thing to ask,' continued Edith, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045335 | 'just a fancy; why should I mind your not seeing Miss Townsend?' He didn't answer. 'However, I _do_ mind, and I'll be grateful.' Edith thought one might be unfaithful without being disloyal, and she believed Bruce now. She was too sensible to ask him never to write a line, never to telephone, never to do anything else; besides, it was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045336 | beneath her dignity to go into these details, and common-sense told her that one or the other must write or communicate if the thing was to be stopped. If Miss Townsend wrote to him to the club, he would have to answer. Bruce meant not to see her again, and that was enough. 'Then you're not cross, Edith--not depressed?' She | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045337 | gave her sweetest smile. She looked brilliantly happy and particularly pretty. 'Edith!' With a violent reaction of remorse, and a sort of tenderness, he tried to put his arm round her. She moved away. 'Don't you forgive me, Edith, for anything I've done that you don't like?' 'Yes, I _entirely_ forgive you. The incident is closed.' 'Really forgive me?' 'Absolutely. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045338 | And I've had a tiring day and I'm going to sleep. Good night.' With a kind little nod she left him standing in the middle of the room with that air of stupid distinction that he generally assumed when in a lift with other people, and that came to his rescue at awkward moments--a dull, aloof, rather haughty expression. But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045339 | it was no use to him now. He had considerable difficulty in refraining from venting his temper on the poor, dumb furniture; in fact, he did give a kick to a pretty little writing-table. It made no sound, but its curved shoulder looked resentful. 'What a day!' said Bruce to himself. He went to his room, pouting like Archie. But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045340 | he knew he had got off cheaply. Another Side of Bruce Ever since his earliest youth, Bruce had always had, at intervals, some vague, vain, half-hearted entanglement with a woman. The slightest interest, practically even common civility, shown him by anyone of the feminine sex between the ages of sixteen and sixty, flattered his vanity to such an extraordinary extent | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045341 | that he immediately thought these ladies were in love with him, and it didn't take much more for him to be in love with them. And yet he didn't really care for women. With regard to them his point of view was entirely that of vanity, and in fact he only liked both men or women who made up to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045342 | him, or who gave him the impression that they did. Edith was really the only woman for whom his weak and flickering passion had lingered at all long; and in addition to that (the first glamour of which had faded) she had a real hold over him. He felt for her the most genuine fondness of which he was capable, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045343 | besides trust and a certain admiration. A sort of respect underlay all his patronising good-nature or caprices with her. But still he had got into the habit of some feeble flirtation, a little affair, and at first he missed it very much. He didn't care a straw for Miss Townsend; he never had. He thought her plain and tedious; she | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045344 | bored him more than any woman he had ever met, and yet he had slipped into a silly sort of intrigue, beginning by a few words of pity or sympathy to her, and by the idea that she looked up to him in admiration. He was very much ashamed of it and of the circumstances; he was not proud of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045345 | his conquest with her, as he generally was. He felt that on account of the children, and altogether, he had been playing it a bit low down. He was not incapable, either, of appreciating Edith's attitude. She had never cross-questioned him, never asked him for a single detail, never laboured the subject, nor driven the point home, nor condescended even | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045346 | to try to find out how far things had really gone. She hadn't even told him how she knew; he was ashamed to ask. And, after that promise of forgiveness, she never referred to it; there was never the slightest innuendo, teasing, reproach. Yes, by Jove! Edith was wonderful! And so Bruce meant to play the game too. For several | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045347 | days he asked the porter at the club if there were any letters, receiving the usual reply, 'None, sir.' The third day he received the following note, and took it to read with enjoyment of the secrecy combined with a sort of self-important shame. Until now he hadn't communicated with her:-- 'Dear Mr Ottley, Of course you know I'm not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045348 | returning to the children after the holidays, nor am I going with you to Westgate. I'm very unhappy, for I fear I have offended Mrs Ottley. She has always been very kind to me till now; but I shall let the matter rest. Under the circumstances I suppose I shall not see you any more. May I ask that you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045349 | should not call or write. I and mother are going to spend the summer at Bexhill with some friends. Our address will be Sandringham, Seaview Road, Bexhill, if you like to write just one line to say good-bye. I fear I have been rather to blame in seeing you without Mrs Ottley's knowledge, but you know how one's feelings sometimes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045350 | lead one to do what one knows one ought not to ...' 'Sandringham, indeed! Some boarding house, I suppose,' said Bruce to himself. 'What a lot of 'ones'!... Fine grammar for a governess.' '... Wishing you every happiness (I _shall_ miss the children!). Yours sincerely, Margaret Townsend '_P.S._--I shall never forget how happy I was with you and Mrs Ottley.' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045351 | Bruce's expression as he read the last line was rather funny. 'She's a silly little fool, and I shan't answer,' he reflected. Re-reading the letter, he found it more unsatisfactory still, and destroyed it. The thought of Miss Townsend bored him unutterably; and indeed he was incapable of caring for any woman (however feebly) for more than two or three | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045352 | weeks. He was particularly fickle, vague, and scrappy in his emotions. Edith was the only woman for whom even a little affection could last, and he would have long tired of her but for her exceptional character and the extraordinary trouble and tact she used with him. He didn't appreciate her fine shades, he was not in love with her, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045353 | didn't value her as another man might have done. But he was always coming back to a certain steady, renewed feeling of tenderness for her. With the curious blindness common to all married people (and indeed to any people who live together), clever Edith had been entirely taken in, in a certain sense; she had always felt (until the 'Townsend | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045354 | case') half disdainfully but satisfactorily certain of Bruce's fidelity. She knew that he had little sham flirtations, but she had never imagined his going anywhere near an intrigue. She saw now that in that she had been duped, and that if he didn't do more it was not from loyalty to her. Still, she now felt convinced that it wouldn't | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045355 | occur again. She had treated him well; she had spared him in the matter. He was a little grateful, and she believed he would be straight now, though her opinion of him had rather gone down. Edith always felt that she must go to the very extreme of loyalty to anyone who was faithful to her; she valued fidelity so | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045356 | deeply, and now this feeling was naturally relaxed a little. She hadn't the slightest desire for revenge, but she felt she had a slightly freer hand. She didn't see why she should, for instance, deprive herself of the pleasure of seeing Aylmer; she had not told him anything about it. That day at the club, Bruce in his depression had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045357 | a chat with Goldthorpe, his golfing companion and sometime confidant. Over a cigarette and other refreshments, Bruce murmured how he had put an end to the little affair for the sake of his wife. 'Rather jolly little girl, she was.' 'Oh yes,' said Goldthorpe indifferently. He thought Edith very attractive, and would have liked to have the duty of consoling | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045358 | her. 'One of those girls that sort of _get round_ you, and appeal to you--_you_ know.' 'Oh yes.' 'Grey eyes--no, by Jove! I should call them hazel, with black lashes, no, not exactly black--brown. Nice, white teeth, slim figure--perhaps a bit too straight. Brownish hair with a tinge of gold in the sun.' 'Oh yes.' 'About twenty,' continued Bruce dreamily. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045359 | He knew that Miss Townsend was thirty-two, but suspected Goldthorpe of admiring flappers, and so, with a subconscious desire to impress him, rearranged the lady's age. 'About twenty--if that. Rather long, thin hands--the hands of a lady. Well, it's all over now.' 'That's all right,' said Goldthorpe. He seemed to have had enough of this retrospective inventory. He looked at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045360 | his watch and found he had an appointment. Bruce, thinking he seemed jealous, smiled to himself. For a few days after what had passed there was a happy reaction in the house. Everyone was almost unnaturally sweet and polite and unselfish about trifles to everybody else. Edith was devoting herself to the children, Bruce had less of her society than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045361 | usual. She seemed to assume they were to be like brother and sister. He wouldn't at present raise the question; thinking she would soon get over such a rotten idea. Besides, a great many people had left town; and they were, themselves, in the rather unsettled state of intending to go away in a fortnight. Though happy at getting off | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045362 | so easily, Bruce was really missing the meetings and notes (rather than the girl). Fortunately, Vincy now returned; he was looking sunburnt and happy. He had been having a good time. Yet he looked a little anxious occasionally, as if perplexed. One day he told Edith that he had just had a rather serious quarrel with someone who was awfully | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045363 | cross, and carried on like anything and wouldn't give over. 'I guess who she is. What does she want you to do?' 'She wants me to do what all my relations are always bothering me to do,' said Vincy, 'only with a different person.' 'What, to marry?' 'Yes.' 'To marry her, I suppose? Shall you?' 'I'm afraid not,' he said. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045364 | 'I don't think I quite can.' 'Don't you think it would be rather unkind to her?' Neither of them had mentioned Miss Argles' name. The fact that Vincy referred to it at all showed her that he had recovered from his infatuation. 'But do you think I'm treating the poor girl badly?' 'Vincy, even if you adored her it would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045365 | end unhappily. As you don't, you would both be miserable from the first day. Be firm. Be nice and kind to her and tell her straight out, and come and stay with us in the country.' 'Well, that was rather my idea. Oh, but, Edith, it's hard to hurt anyone.' 'You know I saw her driving with Aylmer that day, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045366 | and I thought he liked her. I found I was wrong.' 'Yes. He doesn't. I wish I could get some nice person to--er--take her out. I mean, take her on.' 'What sort of person? She's pretty in her way. I daresay she'll attract someone.' 'What sort of person? Oh, I don't know. Some nice earl would please her, or one | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045367 | of those artist chaps you read of in the feuilletons--the sort of artist who, when he once gets a tiny little picture skied at the Academy, immediately has fortune, and titles and things, rolling in. A little picture called 'Eventide' or 'Cows by Moonlight', or something of that sort, in those jolly stories means ten thousand pounds a year at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045368 | once. Jolly, isn't it?' 'Yes, Vincy dear, but we're not living in a feuilleton. What's really going to be done? Will she be nasty?' 'No. But I'm afraid Aunt Jessie will abuse me something cruel.' He thought a little while. 'In fact she has.' 'What does she say?' 'She says I'm no gentleman. She said I had no business to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045369 | lead the poor girl on, in a manner of speaking, and walk out with her, and pay her marked attention, and then not propose marriage like a gentleman.' 'Then you're rather unhappy just now, Vincy?' 'Well, I spoke to _her_ frankly, and said I would like to go on being her friend, but I didn't mean to marry. And _she_ | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045370 | said she'd never see me again unless I did.' 'And what else?' 'That's about all, thanks very much,' said Vincy. Here Bruce came in. 'Edith,' he said,' have you asked Aylmer to come and stay with us at Westgate?' 'Oh no. I think I'd rather not.' 'Why on earth not? How absurd of you. It's a bit selfish, dear, if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045371 | you'll excuse my saying so. It's all very well for you: you've got the children and Vincy to amuse you (you're coming, aren't you, Vincy?). What price me? I must have someone else who can go for walks and play golf, a real pal, and so forth. I need exercise, and intellectual sympathy. Aylmer didn't say he had anywhere else | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045372 | to go.' 'He's going to take his boy, Freddie, away to some seaside place. He doesn't like staying with people.' 'All right, then. I shall go and ask him to come and stay at the hotel, for at least a fortnight. I shall go and ask him now. You're inconsistent, Edith. At one moment you seem to like the man, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045373 | but as soon as I want to make a pleasant arrangement you're off it. So like a woman, isn't it, Vincy?' He laughed. 'Isn't it?' answered Vincy. 'Well, look here, I'm going right down to Jermyn Street purposely to tell him. I'll be back to dinner; do stop, Vincy.' Bruce was even more anxious than he used to be always | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045374 | to have a third person present whenever possible. He walked through the hot July streets with that feeling of flatness --of the want of a mild excitement apart from his own home. He saw Aylmer and persuaded him to come. While he was there a rather pretty pale girl, with rough red hair, was announced. Aylmer introduced Miss Argles. 'I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045375 | only came for a minute, to bring back those books, Mr Ross,' she said shyly. 'I can't stop.' 'Oh, thank you so much,' said Aylmer. 'Won't you have tea?' 'No, nothing. I _must_ go at _once_. I only brought you in the books myself to show you they were safe.' She gave a slightly coquettish glance at Aylmer, a half-observant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045376 | glance at Bruce, sighed heavily and went away. She was dressed in green serge, with a turned-down collar of black lace. She wore black sude gloves, a gold bangle and a smart and pretty hat, the hat Vincy pretended had been given to _him_ by Cissie Cavanack, his entirely imaginary cousin, and which he'd really bought for her in Bond | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045377 | Street. 'Well, I'll be off then. I'll tell Edith you'll write for rooms. Look sharp about it, because they soon go at the best hotels.' 'At any rate I'll bring Freddie down for a week,' said Aylmer, 'and then we'll see.' 'Who is that girl?' asked Bruce, as he left. 'She's a young artist, and I lent her some books | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045378 | of old prints she wanted. She's not a particular friend of mine--I don't care for her much.' Bruce didn't hear the last words, for he was flying out of the door. Miss Argles was walking very slowly; he joined her. 'Pardon me,' he said, raising his hat. 'It's so very hot--am I going your way? Would you allow me to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045379 | see you home?' 'Oh, you're very kind, I'm sure,' she said sadly. 'But I don't think--I live at Ravenscourt Park.' Bruce thought there was plenty of time. 'Why how very curious! That's just where I was going,' said he boldly. He put up his stick. Instead of a taxi a hansom drove up. Bruce hailed it. 'Always like to give | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045380 | these chaps a turn when I can,' he said. It would take longer. 'How kind-hearted you are,' murmured the girl. 'But I'd really rather not, thank you.' 'Then how shall you get back?' 'Walk to the Tube.' 'Oh no; it's far too hot. Let me drop you, as I'm going in your direction.' He gave her a rather fixed look | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045381 | of admiration, and smiled. She gave a slight look back and got into the cab. 'What ripping red hair,' said Bruce to himself as he followed her. * * * * * Before the end of the drive, which for him was a sort of adventure, Mavis had promised to meet Bruce when she left her Art School next Tuesday | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045382 | at a certain tea-shop in Bond Street. Bruce went home happy and in good spirits again. There was no earthly harm in being kind to a poor little girl like this. He might do a great deal of good. She seemed to admire him. She thought him so clever. Funny thing, there was no doubt he had the gift; women | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045383 | liked him, and there you are. Look at Miss Mooney at the Mitchells' the other day, why, she was ever so nice to him; went for him like one o'clock; but he gave her no encouragement. Edith was there. He wouldn't worry her, dear girl. As he came towards home he smiled again. And Edith, dear Edith--she, too, must be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045384 | frightfully keen on him, when one came to think about it, to forgive him so readily about Margaret Tow--Oh, confound Miss Townsend. This girl was a picture, a sort of Rossetti, and she had had such trouble lately--terrible trouble. The man she had been devoted to for years had suddenly thrown her over, heartlessly.... What a brute he must have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045385 | been! She was going to tell him all about it on Tuesday. That man must have been a fiend!... 'Holloa, Vincy! So glad you're still here. Let's have dinner, Edie.' At Lady Everard's Lady Everard was sitting in her favourite attitude at her writing-table, with her face turned to the door. She had once been photographed at her writing-table, with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045386 | a curtain behind her, and her face turned to the door. The photograph had appeared in _The Queen, The Ladies' Field, The Sketch, The Taller, The Bystander, Home Chat, Home Notes, The Woman at Home_, and _Our Stately Homes of England_. It was a favourite photograph of hers; she had taken a fancy to it, and therefore she always liked | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045387 | to be found in this position. The photo had been called: 'Lady Everard at work in her Music-Room.' What she was supposed to be working at, heaven only knew; for she never wrote a line of anything, and even her social notes and invitation cards were always written by her secretary. As soon as a visitor came in, she rose | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045388 | from the suspiciously clean writing-table, put down the dry pen on a spotless blotter, went and sat in a large brocaded arm-chair in front of some palms, within view of the piano, and began to talk. The music-room was large, splendid and elaborately decorated. There was a frieze all round, representing variously coloured and somewhat shapeless creatures playing what were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045389 | supposed to be musical instruments. One, in a short blue skirt, was blowing at something; another in pink drapery (who squinted) was strumming on a lyre; other figures were in white, with their mouths open like young birds preparing to be fed by older birds. They represented Harmony in all its forms. There were other attempts at the classical in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045390 | the decoration of the room; but Lady Everard herself had reduced this idea to bathos by huge quantities of signed photographs in silver frames, by large waste-paper baskets, lined with blue satin and trimmed with pink rosettes, by fans which were pockets, stuffed cats which were paperweights, oranges which were pincushions, and other debris from those charitable and social bazaars | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045391 | of which she was a constant patroness. With her usual curious combination of weak volubility and decided laying-down of the law, she was preparing to hold forth to young La France (whom she expected), on the subject of Debussy, Edvina, Marcoux, the appalling singing of all his young friends, his own good looks, and other subjects of musical interest, when | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045392 | Mr Cricker was announced. She greeted him with less eagerness, if less patronage, than her other protg, but graciously offered him tea and permitted a cigarette. Lady Everard went in for being at once _grande dame_ and Bohemian. She was truly good-natured and kind, except to rivals in her own sphere, but when jealous she was rather redoubtable. 'I'm pleased | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045393 | to see you, my dear Willie,' she said; 'all the more because I hear Mrs Mitchell has taken Wednesdays now. Not _quite_ a nice thing to do, I think; although, after all, I suppose we could hardly really clash. True, we _do_ happen to know a few of the same people.' (By that Lady Everard meant she had snatched as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045394 | many of Mrs Mitchell's friends away as she thought desirable.) 'But as a general rule I suppose we're not really in the same set. But perhaps you're going on there afterwards?' That had been Mr Clicker's intention, but he denied it, with surprise and apparent pain at the suspicion. She settled down more comfortably. 'Ah, well, Mrs Mitchell is an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045395 | extremely nice, hospitable woman, and her parties are, I know, considered _quite_ amusing, but I do think--I really do--that her husband carries his practical jokes and things a _little_ too far. It isn't good form, it really isn't, to see a man of his age, with his face blacked, coming in after dinner with a banjo, calling himself the Musical | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045396 | White-eyed Kaffir, as he did the last time I was there. I find it _dplac_--that's the word, _dplac_. He seemed to think that we were all children at a juvenile party! I was saying so to Lord Rye only last night. Lord Rye likes it, I think, but he says Mr Mitchell's mad--that's what it is, a little mad. Last | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045397 | time Lord Rye was there everybody had a present given them hidden in their table napkins. There had been some mistake in the parcels, I believe, and Miss Mooney--you know, the actress, Myra Mooney--received a safety razor, and Lord Rye a vanity bag. Everybody screamed with laughter, but I must say it seemed to me rather silly. I wasn't there | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045398 | myself.' 'I was,' said Mr Cricker. 'I got a very pretty little feather fan. I suppose the things really had been mixed up, and after all I was very glad of the fan; I was able to give it to--' He stopped, sighed and looked down on the floor. 'And is that affair still going on, Willie dear? It seems | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000045399 | to me _such_ a pity. I _do_ wish you would try and give it up.' 'I know, but she _won't_,' he said in a voice hoarse with anxiety. 'Dear Lady Everard, you're a woman of the world, and know everything--' She smiled. 'Not everything, Willie; a little of music, perhaps. I know a good voice when I hear it. I | 60 | gutenberg |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.