“I don’t interrupt you half as much as you interrupt yourself. I want
to know what happened. What’s the good of gassing about the chauffeur
and the color of the car?”
“Well, to me that’s all part of the picture—I suppose I can’t make it
for you. The big yellow car—a three thousand wouldn’t nearly cover
it nowadays, you know—and Jefferson, a tall, slim chap, dark; been a
company sergeant-major—oh, damned genteel!—Lady Eunice quite out of the
situation—as she would be—but—what do you call it?—a little patrician
all over—and Nina—at her most stately! Over against all that—and it was
rather overpowering; I can tell you I felt it—the _midinette_ with her
box walking down the drive. That girl—she didn’t look more than a girl,
I swear, though I suppose she’s five-and-twenty——”
“And who were you going to lunch with?” I interrupted again. I could
not help it. I think that I laughed, shortly and rather harshly. A
ridiculous little _impasse_ it seemed for him. He had told his story
clumsily, but somehow he had brought the scene before my eyes. Memory
helped me, I imagine; it put more into the figure swinging down the
drive, more into her stately ladyship seated in that challenging,
possibly too showy, yellow car. “Which of them did you lunch with?” I
laughed on the question, but I was rather excited.
He had stopped smoking; he sat in a rather odd attitude—upright, with
his legs so close together that they left only just room for him to
thrust his hands, held together as if he were saying his prayers,
between them just above the knees.
“After all—was it a matter of so much importance? A lunch!” I mocked.
He didn’t pay attention to that, and he did not change his position.
“Then Nina saw her. Things are funny. She’d come on purpose to see
her, of course. Still, when she did, her mouth suddenly went stiff—you
know what I mean? She didn’t move, though; it was just her mouth. And
I stood there like a fool—actually with one foot on the ground and one
on the step of the car, I believe; and Jefferson stifling another yawn
beside me!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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