Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 5, 2025
Quarrier and Agatha stood by the window together, conversing in low voices. Belwether, at a desk, sat muttering and fussing with a cheque-book. The others were in Sylvia's apartments.
Of course the first thing that presented itself to Mortimer's consideration was the engineering of Plank's matrimonial ambitions. Clearly the man had not changed. He was always at Sylvia's heels; he was seen with her in public; he went to the Belwether house a great deal. No possible doubt but that he was as infatuated as ever.
He could distinguish by their voices, by their laughter and step, the people who were mounting the stairway and lingering for gossip or passing through the various corridors to court the sleep denied him; he heard Mortimer's heavy tread and the soft shuffling step of Major Belwether as they left the elevator; and the patter of his hostess's satin slippers, and her gay "good night" on the stairs.
And he repeated it unctuously, almost reconciled to his own shortcoming, because it was the first time, as far as he knew, that a Belwether might legitimately enjoy the pleasures of holding the word of a Siward in contempt. Sylvia had dismissed her maid, the old feeling of distaste for the touch of another had returned since the last mad, crushed embrace in Siward's arms had become a memory.
"I could deliver you several blocks, if you care to bid," said Plank bluntly. Belwether grew red, then pale. Quarrier stiffened in his chair, but his eyes were only sceptical.
"You told that to the governors, too. Tell them again, if you like. I decline to discuss this matter with you. I decline to countenance your unwarranted intrusion into what you pretend to believe are my private affairs. I decline to confer with Belwether or Mortimer. It's enough that you are inclined to meddle " His cold anger was stirring.
"I know. Major Belwether told me that he had thought of Howard as an anchor for her. It seemed a pity Howard with all his cold, heavy negative inertia. I said I'd do it. I did. And now I don't know; I wish, almost wish I hadn't." "What has changed your ideas?" "I don't know. Howard is safer than Stephen Siward, already in the first clutches of his master-vice.
Whence, presently, Fleetwood and O'Hara extracted him fate at that moment being personified by a garrulous old gentleman, one Peter Caithness, who divided with Major Belwether the distinction of being the club bore and together they piloted him to the billiard room, where he beat them handily for a dollar a point at everything they suggested.
All greeted Siward amiably all excepting one who may not have seen him an elderly, pink, soft gentleman with white downy chop-whiskers and the profile of a benevolent buck rabbit. "How do you do, Major Belwether?" said Siward in a low voice without offering his hand. Then Major Belwether saw him, bless you! yes indeed!
In Sylvia's boudoir Grace Ferrall and Agatha Caithness sat before the fire; Sylvia, at the mirror of her dresser, was correcting the pallor incident to the unbroken dissipation of a brilliant season; Marion, with her inevitable cigarette, wandered between Sylvia's quarters and the library, where Quarrier and Major Belwether were sitting in low-voiced confab.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking