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Many French and Germans were to be met with at her parties; and it was impossible to be with either them or her for many minutes without hearing the most hearty and whole-souled abuse of English aspirations, art, letters and cooking. The respectability, the pictures, the books and the boiled cabbage of Britain all came impartially under the lash. Mrs. Wolfstein's origin was obscure.
She's afraid people will begin to think that extraordinary colourless charm she and you possess stagey. Besides, you have certain mannerisms you don't imitate her, Pimpernel?" The pawnbroking expression was remarkably apparent for a moment in Mrs. Wolfstein's eyes. "I haven't started to yet." "Yet?" "Well, if she don't ask me to number thirty-eight 'tis thirty-eight?" "Forty-two."
She had some pride but not enough to keep her passive. She was not one of those women who would rather lose all they have than struggle to keep it. She meant to struggle, but she had no wish that the world should know what she was doing. Pride rose in her when she thought of cold eyes watching the battle, cold voices commenting on it Amalia Wolfstein's eyes, Mr.
"There's an extraordinary resemblance!" said Lady Holme. "It's wonderfully like." "Even you see it! Ashley, you ought to be triumphant " "Wonderfully like Miss Schley," added Lady Holme, cutting gently through Mrs. Wolfstein's rather noisy outburst. She turned to the American. "I have been wondering whether you won't come in one day and see my little home.
Wolfstein and Miss Schley. She greeted them with a nod that was more gay and friendly than her usual salutations to women, which often lacked bonhomie. Mrs. Wolfstein's too expressive face lit up. "The sensation is complete!" she exclaimed loudly.
Wolfstein's curiously improper laugh, she frowned. The face in the mirror changed and looked almost old. This struck her unpleasantly. She kept the frown in its place and stared from under it, examining her features closely, fancying herself really an old woman, her whimsical fascination dead in its decaying home, her powers faded if not fled for ever. She might do what she liked then.
"I don't know. Some weeks." "Why didn't you tell me?" "I did. I said I had met her at Mrs. Wolfstein's lunch." "No, but why didn't you tell me how like you she was?" There was complete silence in the brougham for a minute. Then Lady Holme said: "I had no idea she was like me." "Then you're blind, old girl. She's like you if you'd been a chorus-girl and known a lot of things you don't know."
Miss Schley had not come yet. She was certain to be effectively late, as she had been at Mrs. Wolfstein's lunch-party. Lady Holme did not feel as if she cared whether she came early or late, whether she were there or not.
To keep it is to tempt the wrath of the gods, but I should keep it." He poured out another whisky-and-soda and suddenly began to curse Miss Schley. Sir Donald had spoken to her after Mrs. Wolfstein's lunch. "She's imitating Lady Holme," said Carey. "I cannot see the likeness," Sir Donald said. "Miss Schley seems to me uninteresting and common." "She is."
He bellowed distracted nothings but could not make her hear, obtaining no more fortunate result than a persistent flutter of pink eyelids, and a shrill, reiterated "The what? The what?" A sharp tap came presently on the box door, and Mrs. Wolfstein's painted face appeared. Lord Holme sprang up with undisguised relief. "What d'you think of Pimpernel? Ah, Mr. Laycock I heard your faithful hands."
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