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The only thing he was sure of was that he was not going to remain in the Hickses' employ: when they left Rome for Central Asia he had no intention of accompanying them. The part of Mr. Buttles' successor was becoming daily more intolerable to him, for the very reasons that had probably made it most gratifying to Mr. Buttles. To be treated by Mr. and Mrs.
Because, you see, at home we never really have understood Tiepolo; and Mr. Beck and Eldorada are the only ones to realize it. Mr. Buttles simply won't." She turned to Lansing and held out her hand. "I am in love," she repeated earnestly, "and that's the reason why I find art such a RE source."
He is fifty-two and a volunteer, in stark opposition to the Squire, who jeers at him perpetually. Forest takes it calmly, seems even in a queer way to be attached to his queer master. But he never misses a drill for anybody or any weather, and when he's out, the under-housemaid "buttles" for him like a lamb.
Buttles reduced to a limp image of unrequited passion. And what a painful surprise to the Hickses to be thus suddenly deprived of the secretary who possessed "the foreign languages"! Mr. Beck kept the accounts and settled with the hotel-keepers; but it was Mr.
My parents must absolutely have some one they can count on. You know what an easy place it is.... I think you would find the salary satisfactory." Nick drew a deep breath of relief. For a moment her eyes had looked as they had in the Scalzi and he liked the girl too much not to shrink from reawakening that look. But Mr. Buttles's place: why not? "Poor Buttles!" he murmured, to gain time.
I remember now I saw Miss Hicks in Venice the day before yesterday," Lansing continued, dazed at the thought that hardly forty-eight hours had passed since his encounter with Coral in the Scalzi. Mr. Buttles, instead of speaking, had tentatively approached his table. "May I take this seat for a moment, Mr. Lansing? Thank you.
Buttles, after an expectant pause, went on: "If you see me here to-day it is only because, after a somewhat abrupt departure, I find myself unable to take leave of our friends without a last look at the Ibis the scene of so many stimulating hours. But I must beg you," he added earnestly, "should you see Miss Hicks or any other member of the party to make no allusion to my presence in Genoa.
An hour later he was sitting in the coffee-room, smoking and glancing vacantly over the papers while he waited for dinner, when he became aware of being timidly but intently examined by a small round-faced gentleman with eyeglasses who sat alone at the adjoining table. "Hullo Buttles!"
Buttles. "No idea you were here: is the yacht in harbour?" he asked, remembering that the Ibis must be just about to spread her wings. Mr. Buttles, at salute behind his chair, signed a mute negation: for the moment he seemed too embarrassed to speak. "Ah you're here as an advance guard?
"Oh," she said, "you won't find the same reasons as he did for throwing up the job. He was the martyr of his artistic convictions." He glanced at her sideways, wondering. After all she did not know of his meeting with Mr. Buttles in Genoa, nor of the latter's confidences; perhaps she did not even know of Mr. Buttles's hopeless passion. At any rate her face remained calm.
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