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Updated: May 2, 2025
"What an extraordinary-looking creature!" said Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay "Is he quite a gentleman, Maryllia?" Maryllia smiled. "He is a gentleman according to my standard," she said. "He is honest, true to his friends, and faithful to his work. I ask nothing more of any man." She changed the subject of conversation, and Mrs.
Maryllia was well accustomed to it, and understood what she called 'Gigue's vernacular' but the ladies and gentlemen of her house- party were not so well instructed, and Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay, whose knowledge of the French language was really quite extraordinary, immediately essayed the famous singing-master in his own tongue.
Bludlip Courtenay, a 'leader' in society, who went everywhere, did everything, wore the newest coat, skirt or hat from Paris directly it was put on the market, and wrote accounts of herself and her 'smartness' to the American press under a 'nom-de-plume. She was not, like Lady Beaulyon, celebrated for her beauty, but for her perennial youth.
Bludlip Courtenay, tired of trying to 'draw' Walden on sundry topics, got cross and impatient, the more so as she found that he could make himself very charming to the other people in his immediate vicinity, and that, as the dinner proceeded, he 'came out' as it were, very unexpectedly in conversation, and proved himself not only an intellectually brilliant man, but a socially entertaining one.
She had a figure which was the envy of all modellers of dress-stands, and as she was wont to say of herself, it would have been difficult to find fault with the 'chic' of her outward appearance. Painters and sculptors would have found her an affront to nature but then Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay had no acquaintance with painters and sculptors. She thought them 'queer' people, with very improper ideas.
If you don't mind, Maryllia, I shall rest and massage till dinner." "Pray do so!" returned Maryllia, kindly, smiling, despite herself; Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay's life was well-nigh, spent in 'massage' and various other processes for effacing the prints of Time from her carefully guarded epidermis "But I was just going to ask Cicely to play us something. Won't you wait five minutes and hear her?"
Bludlip Courtenay surveying Gigue through her lorgnon with an air of polite criticism amounting to disdain, she noted the men hanging back a little in the way that well-born Britishers do hang back from a foreigner who is 'only' a teacher of singing, especially if they cannot speak his language, and she began to enjoy herself.
Zis prima donna chante pour les Francais, les Italiens, les Russes! il faut qu'elle chante pour nous! Zen zey vill pay ze guinea ces commes des moutons! Zey follow les autres pays zey know nosing of ze art demselves!" Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay coughed delicately. "Music is so very much overdone in England" she said, languidly "One gets so tired of it!
The windows of this apartment were set open, and a charming garden vista of lawn and terraee and rose-walk opened out before the eyes. "Now for Bridge!" said Lady Beaulyon "I'm simply dying for a game!" "So am I!" declared Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay "Lord Charlemont, you'll play?" "Charmed, I'm sure!" was the ready response. "Where shall we put the card tables? Near the window?
When she ceased, there was a little outbreak of applause, and Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay rose languidly. "Yes, very nice!" she said "Very nice indeed!
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