England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction
Jeremy Chiddingfold had established himself in London greatly to his
satisfaction. He had hired a bedroom in Ebury Street, an attic, and had
made friends with one Alec Turner, a journalist, who lodged in the same
house. Alec Turner took him often to the Metropolitan Radical Club, and
had proposed him for membership. Here he could eat at moderate charges,
play chess, smoke, and argue about all things in heaven (assuming
heaven) and earth (which, anyhow, was full of matter for argument). And
at Ebury Street he was not only within easy reach of the Imasons in
Sloane Street, but equally well in touch with the Selfords in Eccleston
Square, and the Raymores in Buckingham Gate. A third-class on the
Underground Railway from Victoria carried him to Liverpool Street,
whence he proceeded to the dyeing-works near Romford, in Essex. For the
dyeing-works project was taking shape. Jeremy had been down to Romford
several times to look round and see what the processes were like. He had
digested the article on dyeing in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, and had
possessed himself of the _Dictionary of Dyeing_ and the _Manual of
Dyeing_. His talk both at the Metropolitan Radical Club and at the
houses he frequented was full of the learning and the terminology of
dyeing--things you dyed, and things you dyed the things with, and the
things you did it in, and so forth. He fascinated Eva Raymore by
referring airily (and at this stage somewhat miscellaneously) to warm
vats, and copperas, and lime vats, to insoluble basic compounds, to
mordants and their applications, to single and double muriate of tin.
You could go so far on the article without bothering about the
_Dictionary_ or the _Manual_ at all; but then Eva did not know that, and
thought him vastly erudite. In fact Jeremy was in love with dyeing, and
rapidly reconsidered his estimate of the Beautiful--the Beautiful as
such, even divorced from Utility--in the scheme of nature and of life.
On Alec Turner's recommendation he read Ruskin and William Morris, and
thought still better of the Beautiful.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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