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Updated: May 12, 2025
Dallow asked, meeting his eyes. "Great enough to make me hope we shall be greater." Again for a little she said nothing, but then went on: "Why shouldn't I say to him that she's vulgar?" "Because he admires her so much. He wants to paint her." "To paint her?" "To paint her portrait." "Oh I see. I daresay she'd do for that." Mr. Nash showed further amusement.
It eased Lady Agnes a little to advert to the mystery when she could have the air of not having begun. The letter Nick received from her the first day of Passion Week in reply to his important communication was the only one he read at that moment; not counting of course the several notes Mrs. Dallow addressed to him from Griffin.
He was not sorry to be relieved of the office by Nick, and he even tacitly and ironically wished his kinsman's friend joy of a colloquy with Mrs. Dallow. Sherringham's life was spent with people, he was used to people, and both as host and as guest he carried the social burden in general lightly.
Dallow that Nick wouldn't see her till the evening, but now she disliked still more her not being there to hear it. She even resented a little her kinswoman's not having reasoned that she and the girls would come in any event, and not thought them worth staying in for.
Dallow had the complacent belief that there was none in the kingdom in which the flower-stands looked more respectable between the stiff muslin curtains with their mistress behind them on her all but silver wheels. Very often she was accompanied by the Liberal candidate, but even when she was not the equipage seemed scarce less to represent his easy, friendly confidence.
At a quarter past six he rang a bell and told the servant who answered it that he was going and that Mrs. Dallow was to be informed as soon as she came in that he had expected to find her and had waited an hour and a quarter. But he had just reached the doorstep of departure when her brougham, emerging from the evening mist, stopped in front of the house.
As soon as he had closed the door she said without sitting down: "I daresay you saw I didn't like that at all." "My having a sitter in that professional way? I was very much annoyed at it myself," Nick answered. "Why were you annoyed? She's very handsome," Mrs. Dallow perversely said. "I didn't know you had looked at her!" Nick laughed. Julia had a pause. "Was I very rude?"
"It's very jolly," said Nick. It was well Mr. Carteret was not what his guest called observant, or he might have found a lower pitch in the sound of this sentence than in the sense. "Your dear father would have liked it." "So my mother says." "And she must be delighted." "Mrs. Dallow, do you mean?" Nick asked. "I was thinking of your mother. But I don't exclude the charming lady.
It scarcely mattered now that he was just the man to whom the superficial would attribute that sort of tail: it would probably have been hard, for example, to persuade Lady Agnes or Julia Dallow or Peter Sherringham that he was not most at home in some dusky, untidy, dimly-imagined suburb of "culture," a region peopled by unpleasant phrasemongers who thought him a gentleman and who had no human use but to be held up in the comic press which was, moreover, probably restrained by decorum from touching upon the worst of their aberrations.
This effort proved vain, for on one side she was defended by the wall of the room and on the other rendered inaccessible by Miriam's mother, who clung to her with a quickly-rooted fidelity, showing no symptom of desistance. Nash declined perforce upon her daughter Grace, who said to him: "You were talking with my cousin Mrs. Dallow." "To her rather than with her," he smiled.
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