Fortunately for Greenleaf, the men did not stay long at table, as
smoking was equally allowed all over the house and in the ladies'
presence. For Greenleaf, whose conversation with other men had for years
turned only on politics, philosophy, or business, was imbued, much as a
woman might have been, with a foregone conviction that as soon as idle
men were left to themselves they began to discuss womankind. And there
was at the table one man in particular, a long, black, nervous man, with
a smiling, jerky mouth, an odd sample of Jewry acclimatised in England,
a horrid, half-handsome man, with extraordinarily bland manners and
an extraordinarily hard expression, obstinate and mocking, about whom
Greenleaf felt that he positively could not sit out any of _his_
conversation on women, and, of course, _his_ conversation _would_ turn
on women; partly, perhaps, because the fellow had been introduced as Mr.
Hermann Struwe.
Her husband--_that_ was her husband! Greenleaf kept repeating to
himself, as he answered as best he could his host's remarks about
Elizabethan as against Queen Anne. It was only now when he thought of
her in connection with this man that Greenleaf realised that he was
really a little upset by this meeting with his old acquaintance. And
the thought went on and on, round and round, in his head, when he had
followed the first stragglers who went to smoke their cigarettes with
the ladies, and answered the interrogations of the aesthetic man who had
talked about old damask and Wagner. The man in question, delighted to
lay hold of so great an authority as Greenleaf, had also noticed that
Greenleaf had known Mrs. Hermann Struwe at some former period. He had
evidently been snubbed a little by the lady, and partly from a desire to
hear her artistic capacities pooh-poohed by a professional (since every
amateur imagines himself the only tolerable one), and partly from a
natural taste for knowing what did not concern him, he had set very
artfully to pump poor Greenleaf, who, at best, was no match for a wily
man of the world.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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