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"It's as if another woman than you were singing in you a woman totally unlike you, a woman who believes in, and loves, the real beauty which you care nothing about." "The real beauty that rules the world is lodged in the epidermis," she said, opening her fan and smiling slowly. "If this" she touched her face "were to be changed into shall we say a Filberte countenance?" "Oh!" he exclaimed.
He had caught a sound of vexation in her voice, which reminded him oddly of the sound in her singing voice when Miss Filberte was making a fiasco of the accompaniment. Lord Holme was visible and audible in the hall. His immense form towered above his guests, and his tremendous bass voice dominated the hum of conversation round him.
Bry, unaware that she was still thinking about Miss Filberte, murmured to Lady Cardington: "Evidently we are in for a song about Jael with the butter in the lordly dish omitted." Then an expression of sorrowful youth stole into Lady Holme's eyes, changed her mouth to softness and her cheeks to curving innocence.
"What are you up to, Vi?" said Lord Holme, as she came near to him. "I'm going to sing something for Sir Donald." "Capital! Where's Miss Filberte?" "Here I am!" piped a thin alto voice. There was a rustle of skirts as the accompanist rose hastily from her chair. "Sit down, please, Miss Filberte," said Lady Holme in a voice of ice.
"There! You see, directly I put the matter before you, you have to agree with me!" "No one could sing like you and have a face like a silly sheep." "Poor Miss Filberte! Well, then, suppose me disfigured and singing better than ever what man would listen to me?" "I should." "For half a minute.
She sat down on the sofa on which she had sat for a moment alone after her song at the dinner-party, the song murdered by Miss Filberte. The empty, brilliantly-lit rooms seemed unusually large. She glanced round them with inward-looking eyes. Here she was at midnight sitting quite alone in her own house.
"Fool or not, I'd kick out Pierce as I kicked out Carey if I thought " "And suppose I wouldn't let you?" Her voice had suddenly changed. There was in it the sharp sound which had so overwhelmed Miss Filberte. Lord Holme sat straight up and looked at his wife. "Suppose what?" "Suppose I declined to let you behave ridiculously a second time." "Ridiculously! I like that!
"Unchanging! My dear boy!" "Yes, unchanging," he repeated obstinately. He pressed his lips together and looked away. Miss Filberte was cackling and smiling on a settee, with a man whose figure presented a succession of curves, and who kept on softly patting his hands together and swaying gently backwards and forwards. "Well, Mr. Pierce, what's the matter?" "Mr. Pierce!" he said, almost savagely.
"Very ugly; worse than Miss Filberte." "Miss Filberte's not so bad." "Yes, she is, Fritz, you know she is. But I mean ever so much worse; with a purple complexion, perhaps, like Mrs. Armington, whose husband insisted on a judicial separation; or a broken nose, or something wrong with my mouth " "What wrong?" "Oh, dear, anything! What l'homme qui vir had or a frightful scar across my cheek.
Miss Filberte sat down like one who has been knocked on the head with a hammer, and Lady Holme went alone to the piano, turned the button that raised the music-stool, sat down too, holding herself very upright, and played some notes. For a moment, while she played, her face was so determined and pitiless that Mr.
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