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Updated: June 2, 2025
The penultimate stage of the pre-nuptial comedy was reached in the lobby of the Opera, while Society was squeezing to its carriage. It was after the Rheingold, and poor Lady Chelmer could hardly keep her eyes open, and actually dozed off as she leaned against a wall, in patient martyrdom. "I didn't know you admired Wagner so much," Amber said scathingly, as Walter pushed through the grooms.
Bassett returned quietly, "when people cease to regard the Parliamentary session as a cricket match, one side trying to bowl over or catch out the other. But then England always has been a sporting nation." "Ah, you allow some good in the old country," said Lady Chelmer, pleased. "Look at the trouble we all take to come here to encourage the dear boys;" and the words ended with a tired sigh.
As he used to put it in after days, "She gave one look, and threw herself away from the top of that drag." The more literal truth was that she drew Walter Bassett up to the top of that drag. Lady Chelmer protested in vain that she could not halloo to the man. "You knew his mother," Amber replied. "And he's got no seat." "Quite symbolical!
"I can't see any Walter Bassett," she murmured absently. "Why, you are staring straight at him," said Lady Chelmer. Miss Roan did not reply, but her face was eloquent of her astonishment, and when her face spoke, it was with that vivacity which is the American accent of beauty. What wonder if the Hon. Tolshunt Darcy paid heed to it, although he liked what it said less than the form of expression!
He said "one," but only out of modesty; for having once accepted a minor post in a Ministry that the Premier in posse had not succeeded in forming, he had retained a Cabinet air ever since. "Well, the beggar will scarcely come up at Highmead for a third licking," observed the Hon. Tolshunt. "No, poor Walter," said Lady Chelmer.
"Why, right here," said Lady Chelmer, involuntarily borrowing from the vocabulary of her young American protégée. "Walter Bassett!" said the Hon. Tolshunt, languidly. "Isn't that the chap that's always getting chucked out of Parliament?" "But his name doesn't sound Irish?" queried Amber. "What are you talking about, Amber!" cried Lady Chelmer. "Why, he comes of a good old Huntingdon family.
Ere he could reply Nature outdid her in dazzlement, and superadded a crash of thunder. "Yes," he said, as though there had been no interruption. "I scorn all that is blind even this storm that may strike you and me. Ah! the rain," as the great drops began to fall. "Poor Lady Chelmer without an umbrella." "We can shelter by these shrubs."
Recognising the writers by their crests or mottoes, she would arrange the letters in order of precedence, alleging it was to keep her hand in, otherwise she would always be making the most horrible mistakes in "your Mediæval British etiquette." "Who goes first to-night?" said her husband, watching her movements from a voluptuous arm-chair. "Only Lady Chelmer," Amber yawned, as she broke the seal.
At the end of those eight minutes when Lady Chelmer was at last able to reinsinuate tea into the discussion Miss Amber Roan realised with a sudden shock that she had not "chipped in" once, and that "poor Walter Bassett" had commanded her ear for all that time without pouring into it a single compliment, or, indeed, addressing to it any observation whatever.
"My, that's just the one thing I've been dying for," she pouted self-mockingly. "Poor Walter Bassett," Lady Chelmer repeated. "I knew his mother." "Where?" Amber asked again. "In Huntingdonshire, before the property went to Algy " "No, no, Lady Chelmer; I mean, where is poor Walter Whatsaname now?"
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