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It was true: a life-sized statue of Sappho, signed 'Dolbiac, did in feet occupy a prominent place in the sculpture-room. Henry was impressed; so also was Tom, who explained to his young cousin all the beauties of the work. 'What else is there to see here? Henry asked, when the stream of explanations had slackened. 'Oh, there's nothing much else, said Tom dejectedly. They came away.
He turned sharply and resolutely to go to Morley's, and collided with Mr. Dolbiac, who, strangely enough, was standing immediately behind him, and gazing up the stairs, too. 'Ah, my bold buccaneer! said Mr. Dolbiac familiarly. 'Digested those marrons glacés? I've fairly caught you out this time, haven't I? Henry stared at him, startled, and blushed a deep crimson. 'You don't remember me.
Of course, I played a little, in order to be able to put myself in the place of my hero. I should explain that I was in Monte Carlo with my cousin, Mr. Dolbiac, the well-known sculptor and painter, who was painting portraits there. Mr. Dolbiac is very much at home in Parisian artistic society, and he happened to introduce me to a famous French lady singer who was in Monte Carlo at the time.
Dolbiac professed to be entirely ignorant of Henry's identity, and went out into the night. Henry assured his hostess that really it was nothing, except a good joke. But everyone felt that the less said, the better. Of such creases in the web of social life Time is the best smoother.
Ashton Portway repeated. 'What can he mean? Mr. Dolbiac, you aren't playing the game. 'Yes, I am, gracious lady, he contradicted her. 'Well, what character are you, then? demanded Miss Marchrose, irritated by his grotesque pendant to her oration. 'I'm Gerald in A Question of Cubits. The company felt extremely awkward. Henry blushed. 'I said classical fiction, Mrs. Ashton Portway corrected Mr.
Dolbiac stiffly. 'Of course I don't mean to insinuate that it isn't She turned to Henry. 'Oh! did you? observed Dolbiac calmly. 'So sorry. I knew it was a silly and nincompoopish book, but I thought you wouldn't mind so long as 'Mr. Dolbiac! That particular Wednesday of Mrs. Ashton Portway's came to an end in hurried confusion. Mr.
Dolbiac that he was on no account to be silly. Then Mr. Ashton Portway and Geraldine both began to speak at once, and then insisted on being silent at once, and in the end Mr. Ashton Portway was induced to say something about Dulcinea. 'He's chosen Don Quixote, his wife informed Henry behind her hand. 'It's his favourite novel.
'You'll pardon me, said Miss Marchrose, turning to him. 'If you are thinking of Matthew Arnold's introduction to the selected poems, you'll and 'My dear, said Mrs. Ashton Portway, suddenly looming up opposite the reciter, 'what a memory you have! 'Was it so long, then? murmured a tall man with spectacles and a light wavy beard. 'I shall send you back to Paris, Mr. Dolbiac, said Mrs.
'Love is not for such as me, said Mr. Dolbiac solemnly. Then he looked at his hostess, and called out in an undertone: 'I've begun. 'The question, said Miss Marchrose, clearing her throat, 'is, not what love is not, but what it is. 'You must kindly stand up, said Mr. Dolbiac. 'I can't hear. Miss Marchrose glanced at Mrs. Ashton Portway, and Mrs. Ashton Portway told Mr.
The discussion proceeded under difficulties, for no one was loquacious except Mr. Dolbiac, and all Mr. Dolbiac's utterances were staccato and senseless. The game had had several narrow escapes of extinction, when Miss Marchrose galvanized it by means of a long and serious monologue treating of the sorts of man with whom a self-respecting woman will never fall in love.
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