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He had allowed himself to be swayed by Mr. Sherriff's magnetic personality, but now that the other had removed himself he began to wonder if he had been entirely wise to lend his sympathy and co-operation to the scheme. He had never had intimate dealings with a snake before, but he had kept silkworms as a child, and there had been the deuce of a lot of fuss and unpleasantness over them.
'What a beautiful voice Mr Sherriff has! Dudley Pickering made no reply. He thought Roscoe Sherriff had a beastly voice. He resented Roscoe Sherriff's voice. He objected to Roscoe Sherriff's polluting this fair night with his cacophony. 'Don't you think so, Mr Pickering? 'Uh-huh. 'That doesn't sound very enthusiastic. Mr Pickering, I want you to tell me something.
She went into the drawing-room, where she found Roscoe Sherriff strumming on the piano. 'Eustace has been raising Cain, she said. The Press-agent looked up hopefully. He had been wearing a rather preoccupied air. 'How's that? he asked. 'Throwing eggs and plates in the kitchen. The gleam of interest which had come into Roscoe Sherriff's face died out.
She had not realized how seriously Roscoe Sherriff took the art of publicity, nor what would be the result of the half-hour he had spent at the telephone on the night of the departure of Eustace. Roscoe Sherriff's eloquence had fired the imagination of editors. There had been a notable lack of interesting happenings this summer.
He was embracing her. She was his the latest model, self-starting, with limousine body and all the newest. No, no, his mind was wandering. She was his, this divine girl, this queen among women, this From the drawing-room Roscoe Sherriff's voice floated out in unconscious comment Good-bye, boys! I'm going to be married to-morrow. Good-bye, boys! I'm going from sunshine to sorrow.
Sherriff's sister, you know, make yourself civil, can't you? Dig can make you laugh sometimes," added he, aside, to his fair neighbour. Then his genial eye roamed up and down the room and lit up suddenly as he perceived, with their backs to him, Railsford and Daisy dining happily at the next table. He gave a whistle to Dig, and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder.
From these the latter had conceived a picture of Roscoe Sherriff's life as a prismatic thing of energy and adventure and well-paid withal just the sort of life, in fact, which he would have enjoyed leading himself. He wished that he, too, like the Press-agent, could go about the place "slipping things over" and "putting things across."
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