London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
They had an adequate, if not exquisite, lunch, then Madame Frabelle said
she would like to go over Hampton Court. A tedious guide offered to go
with them, but Madame Frabelle said she knew all about the place better
than he did, so they wandered through the beautiful old palace.
'Oh, to think of King Charles II's beauties living there--those lovely,
languid ladies--how charming they were!' exclaimed Madame Frabelle.
'They wore very low dresses,' said Bruce, who felt rather sleepy and
stupid, and as if he didn't quite know what he was saying.
Madame Frabelle modestly looked away from the pictures.
'How exquisite the garden is.'
He agreed, and they went out and sat, somewhat awkwardly, on an
uncomfortable stone seat.
There was a delicious half-hour of real summer sun--'One of those April
days that seem a forecast of June,' as Madame Frabelle said.
'How much better it is to be here in the beautiful fresh air than
squeezed into a stuffy theatre,' remarked Bruce, who was really feeling
a shade jealous of Edith for seeing the revue that he had wished to see.
'Yes, indeed. There's nothing like England, I think,' she said rather
irrelevantly.
'How exactly our tastes agree.'
'Do they?'
Her hand was on the edge of the seat. Somehow or other Bruce's had gone
over it. She didn't appear to notice it.
'What small hands you have!' he remarked.
'Oh no! I take sixes,' said the lady, whose size was really
three-quarters more than that.
He insisted on looking at the grey suede glove, and then examined her
rings.
'I suppose these rings have--er--associations for you, Madame Frabelle?'
'Ah!' she said, shaking her head. 'This one--yes, this one--the sapphire
recalls old memories.' She sighed; she had bought it in the
Brompton Road.
'A present from your husband, I suppose?' said Bruce, with a tinge of
bitterness.
'Ah!' she answered.
She thought he was getting a little sentimental, too early in the day,
and, with an effort at energy, she said:
'Let's go back to the river.'
They went back, and now Bruce began to show off his rowing powers. He
had not practised for a long time, and didn't get along very quickly.
She admired his athletic talents, as though he had been a winner of the
Diamond Sculls.
'If I'd stuck to it, you know,' he said, rather apologetically, 'I'd
have done well in the rowing line. At one time--a good while ago--I
thought of going in for Henley, in the Regatta, you know. But with that
beastly Foreign Office one can't keep up anything of that sort.'
'I suppose not.'
'My muscle,' said Bruce, sticking out his arm, and hitting it rather
hard, 'is fairly good, you know. Not bad for a London man who never has
any practice.'
'No indeed.'
'My arm was about seventeen inches round just below the elbow at one
time,' Bruce said, 'a few years ago.'
'Just fancy! Splendid!' said Madame Frabelle, who remembered that her
waist was not much more a good while ago.
He told her a good many anecdotes of his prowess in the past, until
tea-time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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