The TurnstileMason, A. E. W. (Alfred Edward Woodley)
General
The Turnstile
Mason, A. E. W. (Alfred Edward Woodley)
Fiction
None the less he walked home across the Mall treading upon air. Great
people had moved out of their way to make his acquaintance; Cabinet
ministers had promised to speak for him; important ladies had smiled
their friendliest. He looked back upon the days of his insignificance,
and his heart was buoyant within him. Certainly one girl with
dark-blue eyes and a face like a rose-leaf had presumed to disapprove
of him. But there! Girls! You never knew what odd notions nested in
their pretty heads. If a man on the make steered his course by a
girl's favor, he would soon shipwreck on a snag. However, this girl
must be soothed down. Harry Rames could not afford to have an enemy at
Ludsey. But he had no doubt that he could soothe her down. He walked
home, softly whistling under his breath.
Cynthia for her part went home in a different mood. She had lost
another illusion to-night.
CHAPTER XII
LUNGATINE
The threatened dissolution was, after all, postponed, and through the
autumn months Captain Rames went busily up and down between London and
Ludsey. He made his head-quarters at an hotel on a climbing street in
the thick of the town, and spent his days in the public view and his
nights at meetings and at local festivities.
Cynthia Daventry, five miles away, heard stories of his indefatigable
energy and once or twice she met him in the streets; and once or twice
he snatched an afternoon and swept over in a motor-car to see her. She
welcomed him with a pleasure which she rather resented, and not for
worlds would she have asked him how his campaign was faring. She did
not, however, have to ask. For either Diana Royle was present and
eagerly questioned him, or if Cynthia were alone he plunged into the
subject himself. Captain Rames was at some pains to amuse her and he
succeeded. Little incidents of the campaign, whether they told against
himself or not; sketches of queer characters whom he came across; an
anecdote now and then, drawn from the ancient history of the City--he
poured them out to her, making it quite clear with an apparently
ingenuous frankness that he had deliberately stored them in his memory
purely for her amusement. He was engaged in the work of soothing her
down. Diana Royle would rhapsodize after he had whirled away in a
cloud of dust.
"What a wonderful man! How energetic! How clever!"
"And how complacent!" said Cynthia.
"What high principle!" Diana gushed lyrically. "What character!"
"And what cunning!" added Cynthia, with a droop of her lips.
Diana tapped the floor with an irritable foot.
"Very well, darling. Look for an angel, by all means. You will be very
glad of a man later on." Then she laughed pleasantly. "But I am not
deceived. You talk lightly of him when he is gone, but when he is here
you fix your big eyes on him, and, though you say nothing, every
movement of you asks for more."
Cynthia was startled.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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