Cynthia: With an Introduction by Maurice HewlettMerrick, Leonard
General
Cynthia: With an Introduction by Maurice Hewlett
Merrick, Leonard
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction; Novelists -- Fiction
He gown betokened that visitors were expected; teacups demonstrated
that visitors had been. She welcomed him languidly, and motioned him to
a seat.
"I thought you must have gone to London, or to Paradise," she said.
"What have you beer doing with yourself?"
"I've been so fearfully busy," he answered lamely.
"On the paper?"
"Of course."
"I don't hear good reports of the paper," she said. "I hope they aren't
true?"
"The paper is as good as it always was," responded Kent--"neither
better nor worse. May I ask what you hear?"
"I heard that Sir Charles Eames is getting tired of it. Says he is
running a journal that nobody reads but himself, and _he_ 'don't
read it much.' He informed a man in his club, who told it privately
to another man, who told it in confidence to a woman who told me--I
wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone myself--that 'if the price
didn't improve soon he should scratch it.' What will the robin do then,
Mr. Kent?"
Humphrey looked grave. This was the first plain intimation he had had
that _The World and his Wife_ was likely to collapse, and badly as the
post was paying him now, it was more lucrative than any that awaited
him. He thought that Mrs. Deane-Pitt might have communicated her news
more considerately.
"The robin will manage to find crumbs, I suppose," he said; "I wasn't
born on _The World and his Wife_."
"May I offer you some tea and cake in the meantime?"
"No, thanks."
Her tone annoyed him this afternoon; it was hard and careless. He
fancied at the moment that his only feeling for her was dislike,
and sneered at the mental absurdities into which he had strayed.
There was a lengthy pause--a thing that had seldom occurred between
them--followed by platitudes.
"Well," he murmured, getting up, "I'm afraid I must go."
She did not press him to remain.
"Must you?" she said. "I dare say we shall meet again. It's a small
world in every sense."
"I hope we shall. Au revoir, and bon voyage, Mrs. Deane-Pitt."
"If you should go back yourself, you'll come to see me? You know where
I live."
"Thank you; I shall be very glad."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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