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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Well, he can't preach," said Lady Beaulyon, decisively "I never heard quite such a stupid sermon." All the members of the house-party glanced at one another to see if this verdict were generally endorsed. Apparently some differed in opinion. "Didn't you like it, Eva?" asked Maryllia. "My dear child! Who COULD like it! Such transcendental stuff! And all that nonsense about the Soul!
"I try to forget it as much as possible," and Maryllia's eyes were full of a sweet wistfulness as she spoke "Especially here in my father's home!" "Oh well!" said Lady Beaulyon, with a touch of impatience "You are a strange girl you always were! You can 'live good, or try to, if you like; and stay down here all alone with the doldrums and the humdrums. But you'll be sick of it in six months.
"Margaret Bludlip Courtenay must certainly have known he was to be there," she said "And I think, from her look, Eva Beaulyon knew also. But neither of them gave me a hint. And now if I were to say anything they would only laugh and declare that they 'thought it would be fun. There's no getting any help or sympathy out of such people. I'm sorry! but as usual I must stand alone."
Maryllia had always admired Eva Beaulyon with quite an extravagant admiration, on account of her physical charm and grace, -and had also liked her sufficiently well to entirely discredit the stories that were rife about the number of her unlawful amours. That she was an open flirt could not be denied, but that she ever carried a flirtation beyond bounds, Maryllia would never have believed.
"It was a put off!" responded Maryllia, gaily "It stopped the intended game! Seriously, Eva, I meant it and I do mean it. There's too much Bridge everywhere and I don't think it necessary, I don't think it even decent to keep it going on Sundays." "I suppose the parson of your parish has told you that!" said Lady Beaulyon, suddenly. Maryllia's eyes met hers with a smile.
"Mad or sane, that's what she says," and Eva Beaulyon turned away from the spectacle of her semi-bald and eyebrow-less confidante with a species of sudden irritation and repulsion "She declares we are in the pay of her aunt and Lord Roxmouth. So we are, more or less! And what does it matter! Money must be had and whatever way there is of getting it should be taken.
Life was worth living, he said to himself, when one might study at leisure the little tell-tale lines of vice and animalism on the exquisite features of Lady Beaulyon, and at the same time note admiringly how completely the united forces of massage and self-complacency had eradicated every wrinkle from the expressionless countenance of Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay.
That you had become, in some pitiful way, a different woman to the one that walked with me, not so long ago, and showed me her old French damask roses blossoming in the border!" he paused an instant, his voice faltering a little, then he resumed, quietly and firmly "and that you had, against all nature's best intentions for you, descended to the level of Lady Beaulyon "
Bludlip Courtenay was carefully taking off her artistically woven 'real hair' eyebrows and putting them by in a box for the night, Lady Beaulyon, arrayed in a marvellous 'deshabille' of lace and pale blue satin, which would have been called by the up-to-date modiste 'a dream of cerulean sweetness, came into her room with dejection visibly written on her photographically valuable features.
"No woman's beauty lasts more than a few years," said Roxmouth, as he glanced at the various guests who had entered or were entering. "Lady Beaulyon wears well but she is forty years old, and begins to show it. Margaret Bludlip Courtenay must be fifty, and she doesn't show it she manages her Paris cosmetics wonderfully. Some of these county ladies would be better for a little touch of her art!
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