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Rachel did not answer. She wondered in what the gift consisted, which Lady Newhaven and Sybell both possessed, of bringing all conversation to a stand-still. "It seems curious," said Lady Newhaven, after a pause, "how the books are mostly written by the people who know least of life. Now, the Sonnets from the Portuguese. People think so much of them. I was looking at them the other day.
Sybell had announced at luncheon, in the tone of one who observes a religious rite, that she should rest till four o'clock, and would be ready to sit for the portrait of her upper lip at that hour. It was only half-past two now. Mr. Tristram had planted himself exactly in front of Rachel's windows, with his back to the house.
When the evening came he dressed with his usual care, verified the hour of his engagement, and went out to dine with the Loftuses. What the Bandar-log think now the jungle will think later. Maxim of the Bandar-log, RUDYARD KIPLING. It was Sybell Loftus's first season in London since her second marriage with Mr. Doll Loftus.
West London in satin and diamonds does not hear her sister East London in rags calling to her to deliver her. The voice of East London has been drowned in the dance-music of the West End." Sybell gazed with awed admiration at the apostle. "What a beautiful thought," she said. "Miss Gresley's Idyll of East London," said Hugh, "is a voice which, at any rate, has been fully heard."
The apostle put up a pince-nez on a bone leg and looked at Hugh. "I entirely disapprove of that little book," she said. "It is misleading and wilfully one-sided." "Hester Gresley is a dear friend of mine," said Sybell, "and I must stand up for her. She is the sister of our clergyman, who is a very clever man. In fact, I am not sure he isn't the cleverest of the two. She and I have great talks.
Guy DE MAUPASSANT. Sybell's party broke up on Saturday, with the exception of Rachel and Mr. Tristram, who had been unable to finish by that date a sketch he was making of Sybell. When Doll discovered that his wife had asked that gentleman to stay over Sunday he entreated Hugh, in moving terms, to do the same.
Sybell quite forgot she had not liked him, insisted on his staying on indefinitely at Wilderleigh, and, undaunted by her distressing experience with Mr. Tristram, read poetry to Hugh in the afternoons and surrounded him with genuine warm-hearted care. Doll was steadily, quietly kind.
The discovery which all who love adulation quickly make namely, that the truly appreciative and sympathetic and gifted are for the greater part to be found in a class below their own was duly made and registered by Sybell.
Hugh was easily persuaded, and so it came about that the morning congregation at Warpington had the advantage of furtively watching Hugh and Mr. Tristram as they sat together in the carved Wilderleigh pew, with Sybell and Rachel at one end of it, and Doll at the other. No one looked at Rachel. Her hat attracted a momentary attention, but her face none.
Hither came, unwittingly, simple-minded Church dignitaries, who, Sybell hoped, might influence for his good the young agnostic poet who had written a sonnet on her muff-chain, a very daring sonnet, which Doll, who did not care for poetry, had not been shown.
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