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In the minute fraction of time that followed so short that no one in reason could call it a pause Mrs. Durlacher had moulded a swift impression of Sally. Two facts guide-ropes across a swinging bridge she held to for support in her sudden calculation. Firstly, Sally's appearance the quiet, inexpensive display of a gentle taste.
He bowed with his eyes on her face. "Surely you're not going to go yet, Jack," said Mrs. Durlacher. Her eyes were feverishly watching his hands as he began slowly to draw on his gloves. He hesitated. Miss Standish-Roe took the seat he had vacated and looked questioningly up into his face as though it were she who had made the request. "Very well," he said.
Durlacher rode as a swallow rides on an upland wind pinions stretched straightly out the consummate absence of effort; all the training of numberless years and numberless birds of the air in its wings. "Dolly this is Miss Bishop my sister, Mrs. Durlacher." Traill stamped through the ceremony, like a man through a ploughed field.
Durlacher caught her lips between her teeth to crush the smile that rose to them. Now she was sure at least that Sally's power was broken. Her subtle use of that word "allow" had served its double purpose.
From the moment then, that he arrived, she began the outset of her campaign. The social manner she knew he hated. That she cast off. The astute woman of the world, he despised. Mrs. Durlacher had well grounded her. She wrapped herself in the simplicity of a girl whose eyes have scarcely opened to a knowledge of life and whose inner consciousness is as yet untouched.
The fact that her brother had admitted Sally to the room, made Mrs. Durlacher realize that he held her in special regard.
Greville, on the other hand, had been standing out the custom at Beckenham, one that I personally always find a great disadvantage. I was easily beaten this year at Wimbledon by Mrs. Sterry. Classification for 1901: At Wimbledon, in 1902, I had two very strenuous matches, which improved my game immensely. The first, against Mrs. Durlacher, I just won.
"She'd want more than a stitch," Mrs. Durlacher replied, "if she's not going to put on more clothes than that." Traill shrugged his shoulders, half conscious of a comparison between his sister and the quiet reserve of this girl beside him. He had thought her pretty, seeing her at a distance on the night when he had dined with Dolly.
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