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"Ten years ago he was merely a shadowy absurdity." "Oh! he has not changed," said Mr. Amarinth. "That is so wonderful. He never develops at all. He alone understands the beauty of rigidity, the exquisite serenity of the statuesque nature. Men always fall into the absurdity of endeavouring to develop the mind, to push it violently forward in this direction or in that.
Through the lighted windows of the drawing-room a multitude of bobbing small heads might be discerned, and the large form of Esmé Amarinth in the act of reciting the words of his catch. Lord Reggie looked at Lady Locke, and sighed softly. "Why are beautiful things so sad?" he said. "This night is like some exquisite dark youth full of sorrow.
He didn't in the least wish to be married, and felt that he never should. But he also felt that marriage did not matter much either way. In modern days it is a contract of no importance, as Esmé Amarinth often said, and therefore a contract that can be entered into without searching of heart or loss of perfect liberty.
The murmur of their voices, uttering names of co-respondents, was faintly heard now and then as they passed up and down the tiny formal paths. Esmé Amarinth sank down into a chair by Lady Locke and sighed heavily. "What is the matter?" she asked. "You have a beautiful soul," he said softly, "and I have a beautiful soul too. Why should there not be a sympathy between us?
It appeared to mesmerise him, and to render him unaware of outward things. Whenever it moved his eyes moved too, and he even forgot to blush as he lost himself in its astonishing green fascinations. "How exquisite rose-coloured youth is," Amarinth said softly to Mrs. Windsor, as Lord Reggie ranged the little boys before him, and prepared to strike a chord upon the piano.
No, not any nuts, thank you; I never touch nuts. I should like to hear this anthem." "I could play it to you with pleasure," Reggie said, drooping his fair head slightly, "but of course it is all wrong on a piano. It requires the organ and sweet boys' voices." "We have anthems in the church here," said Mr. Smith. "We have even done masses." "How exquisite!" said Amarinth. "A village mass.
Amarinth leaned largely upon the piano, in an attitude of rapt attention. His clever, clean-shaved face wore an expression of seraphic sensuality. Lady Locke listened quietly. She had never heard any hymn so often before, and yet she did not feel bored. At last Lord Reggie stopped, and said, "Esmé, the curate comes to dine to-morrow. Remember to be very sweet to him.
They are still painting, and I suppose always will be. Whenever I say anything witty they scream with laughter, and I believe that my name has become a household word in Whitechapel or Wapping, or wherever the British workman lives? What am I to do?" "Read them Jerome K. Jerome's last comic book," said Amarinth, "and they will go at once. I find his works most useful.
Now, a hot bun before breakfast in the morning, or in bed at night, might suit me admirably; but if I ate one now, I should feel miserable. Your strawberries look most original, quite the real thing. Do not be angry with me for discarding the buns. If I ate one, I should really infallibly lose my temper." "How curious," said Mr. Amarinth, taking a bun delicately between his plump white fingers.
Madame Valtesi said to Amarinth as they set forth. "We are so frightfully punctual that I feel quite like an early Christian. I wonder why the Christians were always so early before we were born? They are generally very late now." "I suppose they have grown tired," he answered, arranging the carnation in his buttonhole meditatively. "Probably we suffer from the activity of our forefathers.
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