United States or Portugal ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
A shrill bell, pealing gaily through the wood, summoned them to luncheon; a fairy banquet spread upon the grass under a charmed circle of beeches; chicken-pies and lobster-salads, mayonaise of salmon and daintily-glazed cutlets in paper frills, inexhaustible treasure of pound-cake and strawberries and cream, with a pyramid of hothouse pines and peaches in the centre of the turf-spread banquet.
He stroked his beard, twisted his moustaches half regretfully, and then exclaiming, “Exit Mr Beveridge,” turned into the shop. The Baron Rudolf von Blitzenberg sat by himself at a table in the dining-room of the Hôtel Mayonaise, which, as everybody knows, is the largest and most expensive in London. He was a young man of a florid and burly Teutonic type and the most ingenuous countenance.
Every minute I expected to turn into a complete boiled lobster. I could see somebody reaching for the mayonaise to sprinkle me. "Well," she continued, "is there no answer? Of course, they are good girls, and you'll treat them white, but " Then the heavens opened and the floods descended. "Oh, John!" she sobbed; "how could you be so unkind, so cruel!
Mr Bunker explained that it was the proper thing to arrive very late, and so it was not until after twelve o’clock that they left the Hôtel Mayonaise for the regions of Belgravia.
Goodwood had come and gone, a brief bright season of loss and gain, fine gowns, flirtation, lobster en mayonaise, champagne, sunshine, dust, glare, babble of many voices, successes, failures, triumphs, humiliations.
A complexion of lilies and roses cabbage roses, bien entendu, which were apt to deepen into peonies after champagne and mayonaise at Ascot or Sandown a figure oh well a tremendous figure hair of an auburn that touched perilously on the confines of red large, serviceable feet, and an appetite the appetite of a ploughman's daughter reared upon short commons.
“What would you like?” said he. They were sitting in the Baron’s private room finishing one of the renowned Hôtel Mayonaise breakfasts. Out of the windows they could see the bright curving river, the bare tops of the Embankment trees, a file of barges drifting with the tide, and cold-looking clouds hurrying over the chaos of brick on the opposite shore.
“I shall let you know, as soon as I find a room. It won’t be in the Mayonaise this time! Good-bye: good sport and luck in love!” “Good-bye, my frient, good-bye,” said the Baron, squeezing his hand.
Then the whistle blew, and as the train moved off Mr Bunker remarked complacently, if a little mysteriously, to himself, “Well, whoever I am, it would seem I’m rather difficult to catch.” Mr Bunker arrived at the Hôtel Mayonaise in what, from his appearance, was an unusually reflective state of mind for him.
Word Of The Day