London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
'Yes, and still more people who listen to it charmingly,' he answered.
'I didn't know before tonight that you ever listened to nonsense or
talked it. I always thought you were the person who solves all the Hard
Cases in _Vanity Fair_--under different names.'
'I wonder you didn't think I won all the prizes in the Limericks,' said
Hyacinth.
'I have my faults, Miss Verney, but I'm not blasphemous. Will you have
an olive?'
She accepted it. He lowered his voice to say--
'How wonderful you're looking tonight!'
'What am I to say to that? I don't think people should make unanswerable
remarks at dinner,' she said, trying to look reproving, but turning pink
with pleasure.
'If people will look adorable at dinner--or anywhere--they must take the
consequences,' said Cecil, under cover of a very animated discussion
between Bruce and Miss Yeo on sixpenny cab-fares.
Then for a second he felt a remorseful twinge of disloyalty. But that
was nonsense; wasn't he obeying Mrs Raymond's distinct commands? Nothing
would please her so much....
And to flirt with Hyacinth was not at all a disagreeable task. He
reflected that Eugenia might have asked him to do something a good
deal harder.
Under the combined influence, then, of duty, pique, and a little
champagne, he gave way to the curious fascination that Hyacinth had
always had for him, and she was only too ready to be happy.
He remembered how he had first met her. He had been dragged to the
Burlingtons' dance--he loathed all large parties--and, looking drearily
round, he'd been struck by, and asked to be introduced to, Miss Verney.
She wasn't Eugenia, of course, and could never, he was sure, be part of
his life. He thought that Eugenia appealed to his better nature and to
his intellect.
He felt even a little ashamed of the purely sensuous attraction Hyacinth
possessed for him, while he was secretly very proud of being in love
with Mrs Raymond. Not everyone would appreciate Eugenia! Cecil was still
young enough to wish to be different from other people, while desiring
still more, like all Englishmen, to _appear_ as much as possible like
everybody else.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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