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He could not himself think of anyone who would pay attention to such a thing, except to be kinder to the girl; but in such matters Sylvia was the better judge, in closer touch with general thought. She met people that he did not and of a more normal species. It was rather late when he got to Dromore's diggings on that third visit. "Mr.
And just on the point of saying: "I thought you'd stepped out of that picture" he saw Dromore's face, and mumbled instead: "So it's YOUR kitten?" "Yes; she goes to everybody. Do you like Persians? She's all fur really. Feel!" Entering with his fingers the recesses of the kitten, he said: "Cats without fur are queer." "Have you seen one without fur?" "Oh, yes!
So, when morning came, he simply wrote the words: "Don't come today!" showed them to Sylvia, and sent them by a servant to Dromore's. Hard to describe the bitterness with which he entered his studio that morning. In all this chaos, what of his work? Could he ever have peace of mind for it again?
I've got the hump. It's this damned east wind." Well he remembered it, when they shared a room at 'Bambury's' that hump of Johnny Dromore's, after some reckless spree or bout of teasing.
And more than ever he felt in the grip of something beyond his power to fight against; something that, however he swerved, and backed, and broke away, would close in on him, find means to bind him again hand and foot. In the afternoon Dromore's confidential man brought him a note.
And, at once, he saw Dromore's eyes probing, questioning: "You married?" "Yes." "Never thought of you as married!" So Dromore did think of him. Queer! He never thought of Johnny Dromore. "Winter's bally awful, when you're not huntin'. You've changed a lot; should hardly have known you. Last time I saw you, you'd just come back from Rome or somewhere. What's it like bein' a a sculptor?
And faster than ever he walked away. Pall Mall brought him back to that counterfeit presentment of the real reality. There, in St. James's Street, was Johnny Dromore's Club; and, again moved by impulse, he pushed open its swing door. No need to ask; for there was Dromore in the hall, on his way from dinner to the card-room.
And at once there began in him again that restless, unreasonable aching that sense of being drawn away out of himself; so that he once more took to walking the Park for hours, over grass already strewn with leaves, always looking craving and for what? At Dromore's the confidential man did not know when his master would be back; he had gone to Scotland with Miss Nell after the St. Leger.
I cannot help observing, as a circumstance of no small moment, that in tracing the Bishop of Dromore's genealogy, essential aid was given by the late Elizabeth Duchess of Northumberland, Heiress of that illustrious House; a lady not only of high dignity of spirit, such as became her noble blood, but of excellent understanding and lively talents.
Then came Spring in earnest, and that real business of life the racing of horses 'on the flat, when Johnny Dromore's genius was no longer hampered by the illegitimate risks of 'jumpin'. He came to dine with them the day before the first Newmarket meeting. He had a soft spot for Sylvia, always saying to Lennan as he went away: "Charmin' woman your wife!"
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