Diary fiction; English fiction -- 20th century; Love stories; Young women -- Fiction
“I hope you won’t mind,” he said, “but a friend of mine, Lord Robert
Vavasour is arriving this afternoon--he is a--er--great judge of
pictures. I forgot I asked him to come down and look at them, it clean
went out of my head.”
I told him he was host; and why should I object to what guests he had.
“Besides, I am going myself to-morrow,” I said, “if Véronique can get
the packing done.”
“Nonsense--how can I make you understand that I do not mean to let you
go at all.”
I did not answer--only looked at him defiantly.
Mr. Barton was waiting patiently for us in the white drawing-room, and
we had not been munching muffins for five minutes when the sound of
wheels crunching the gravel of the great sweep--the windows of this
room look out that way--interrupted our manufactured conversation.
“This must be Bob arriving,” Mr. Carruthers said, and went reluctantly
into the hall to meet his guest.
They came back together presently, and he introduced Lord Robert to me.
I felt at once he was rather a pet! Such a shape! Just like the
Apollo of Belvidere! I do love that look, with a tiny waist and nice
shoulders, and looking as if he were as lithe as a snake, and yet could
break pokers in half like Mr. Rochester in “Jane Eyre”!
He has great, big, sleepy eyes of blue, and rather a plaintive
expression, and a little fairish moustache turned up at the corners,
and the nicest mouth one ever saw, and when you see him moving,
and the back of his head, it makes you think all the time of a
beautifully groomed thoroughbred horse. I don’t know why. At once--in a
minute--when we looked at one another, I felt I should like “Bob”! He
has none of Mr. Carruthers’ cynical, hard, expression, and I am sure he
can’t be nearly as old, not more than twenty-seven, or so.
He seemed perfectly at home, sat down and had tea, and talked in the
most casual, friendly way. Mr. Carruthers appeared to freeze up, Mr.
Barton got more banal--and the whole thing entertained me immensely.
I often used to long for adventures in the old days with Mrs.
Carruthers, and here I am really having them!
Such a situation! I am sure people would think it most improper! I
alone in the house with these three men! I felt I really would have to
go--but where!
Meanwhile I have every intention of amusing myself!
Lord Robert and I seemed to have a hundred things to say to one
another. I do like his voice--and he is so perfectly _sans gêne_, it
makes no difficulties. By the end of tea we were as old friends. Mr.
Carruthers got more and more polite, and stiff, and finally jumped up
and hurried his guest off to the smoking-room.
I put on such a duck of a frock for dinner, one of the sweetest
chastened simplicity, in black, showing peeps of skin through the thin
part at the top. Nothing could be more demure or becoming, and my
hair would not behave, and stuck out in rebellious waves and curls
everywhere.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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