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"I can't bear to hear you talk like this, Imogen," he said. Imogen's own cheeks flamed at the implied reproach. "Do you mean that I must lock everything, everything I have to suffer, into my own heart? I thought that to you, Jack, I could say anything." "Of course, of course, dear. Only don't think in this way." "I accuse her of nothing but accepting this sort of homage."
It was rather odious of her, no doubt, to think it now, but it seemed the truth, and, seen in its light, poor little Imogen's exhortations and consolations were misplaced. Once or twice in reading the letter she had felt an inclination to smile, an inclination that had swiftly passed into compunction and self-reproach.
Imogen's irritation grew as she watched these limpet-like friends, one sprawling and ill-at-ease for all his careful languor, the other quite dreadfully well-mannered, sipping her tea, arching her brows and assuming all sorts of perilous elegancies of pronunciation that Imogen had never before heard her attempt.
Taking Imogen's hand once more, he pressed it, dropped it, looked into her eyes and said, as they turned to the descent: "That was swearing eternal friendship, wasn't it!" Violent emotions, in highly civilized surroundings, may wonderfully be effaced by the common effort of those who have learned how to live.
Imogen's frocks for her first season exercised the judgment of her mother and the purse of her grandfather all through the month of March. With Forsyte tenacity Winifred quested for perfection.
"And the evening," said Valerie, "when you showed me plainly, at last, that because I seemed gold to you, Imogen's blue had turned to green." "Yes; I remember." "It has faded further and further away, her blue, hasn't it?" "Yes," he confessed. "So that you are hardly friends, Jack?" He paused for a moment, and then completed his confession: "We are not friends."
Elsie, amazed at her cleverness, declared herself sure that if Dr. Hope were to say that a roc's egg was needful for Imogen's recovery, Clover would reply, as a matter of course, "Certainly, I will send it up directly," and thereupon proceed to concoct one out of materials already in the house, which would answer as well as the original article and do Imogen just as much good.
Imogen's lips trembled slightly in pronouncing the words. "I should agree with you if that were the case, Imogen. I don't believe that it is." "Very well. Wait and see if it isn't the case," said Imogen.
Imogen's two brothers then carried her to a shady covert, and there, laying her gently on the grass, they sang repose to her departed spirit, and, covering her over with leaves and flowers, Polydore said: "While summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I will daily strew thy grave.
Hamilton lounged, fingering the stem of his wineglass, gazing down the table at one face after another and studying the various degrees of self-consciousness they exhibited. Imogen's eyes followed his, fearfully.
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