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The Greysons lived in a small house squeezed into an angle of the Outer Circle, overlooking Regent's Park. It was charmingly furnished, chiefly with old Chippendale. The drawing-room made quite a picture. It was home-like and restful with its faded colouring, and absence of all show and overcrowding. They sat there after dinner and discussed Joan's news.
There was no suggestion of suffering, either mental or physical. She dined with the Greysons the Sunday after, and mooted the question of the coming fight with Carleton. Greyson thought Phillips would find plenty of journalistic backing.
Conning laughed good naturedly. "Oh! I'm on the mend, all right," he said. "Now as to that trap business," Jim took up the story, "I'll have to go back some and tell yo' about the Greysons and Jed Martin they all be linked like sassages. Pete Greyson lives up to Lone Dome. Pete came from stock; he ain't trash by a long come, but he can act like it!
"Platt is a nice boy, isn't he?" she continued with a shade more enthusiasm. "We went on the most wonderful party this Easter. He wasn't in training then, you know, and I have never seen any one funnier than he was. We were at the Greysons' in Ardmore, and Platt thought he was insulted by the butler when he took Platt's cigarette off a table and threw it in the fire.
But I'll answer first. I am spending a few days with some cousins in Thirty-Seventh Street. They are friends of the Greysons, and were invited here this evening, and I with them. I little dreamed of meeting you here. I must say, Dick, you seem quite at home." "Mr. Greyson has been a kind friend of mine," said Dick, "and I've met Ida quite often.
It occurred to her, in Trafalgar Square, that she had promised to take tea with the Greysons the next afternoon, to meet some big pot from America. She would have to get out of that. She felt it wouldn't do to put off Flossie. She went to bed wakeful. It was marvellously like being at school again. What could Flossie want to see her about that was so important?
It was a summer's evening; Joan had dropped in at the Greysons and had found Mary alone, Francis not having yet returned from a bachelor dinner at his uncle's, who was some big pot in the Navy. They sat in the twilight, facing the open French windows, through which one caught a glimpse of the park. A great stillness seemed to be around them.
Harps in families mean blood, and blood don't run out if you're careful of it." Nella-Rose laughed, but Marg, in the wash-house beyond, listened and hated! No one connected her with harps or blood, but she held, in her sullen heart and soul, the true elements of all that had gone into the making of the best Greysons.
The Phillips had gone up north; and the Greysons to some relations of theirs: swell country people in Hampshire. Flossie was on a sea voyage with Sam and his mother, and even Madge had been struck homesick. It happened to be a Sunday, too, of all days in the week, and London in a drizzling rain was just about the limit.
It was a soft, mild night; and they walked round the Circle to Gloucester Gate. He thought there would be more room in the buses at that point. "I wish you would come oftener," he said. "Mary has taken such a liking to you. If you care to meet people, we can always whip up somebody of interest." She promised that she would. She always felt curiously at home with the Greysons.
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