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Updated: June 27, 2025
"That one doesn't for a moment deny. But can they be 'good' and interesting?" "That must be Maud's subject!" Mrs. Dyott interposed. "To show a woman who IS. I'm afraid, my dear," she continued, "you could only show yourself." "You'd show then the most beautiful specimen conceivable" and Voyt addressed himself to Maud.
Dyott was full of approval. Maud however was full of vagueness. "What great fact?" "The fact of a relation. The adventure's a relation; the relation's an adventure. The romance, the novel, the drama are the picture of one. The subject the novelist treats is the rise, the formation, the development, the climax and for the most part the decline of one.
Dyott softly sounded. "Oh but it IS one; you can make it out," Voyt promptly declared. "They do what they feel, and they feel more things than we. They strike so many more notes, and with so different a hand. When it comes to any account of a relation say between a man and a woman I mean an intimate or a curious or a suggestive one where are we compared to them?
The younger woman, taking the little pile of letters, considered them with envy. "Nine! You ARE good. You're always a living reproach!" Mrs. Dyott gave a sigh. "I don't do it on purpose. The only thing, this afternoon," she went on, reverting to the other question, "would be their not having come down." "And as to that you don't know." "No I don't know."
Dyott wrote with refreshed intensity. Her little pile of letters had grown, and if a look of determination was compatible with her fair and slightly faded beauty the habit of attending to her business could always keep pace with any excursion of her thought. Yet she was the first who spoke. "I trust your book has been interesting." "Well enough; a little mild."
Dyott Street, which still exists, though cut in half, had a most unenviable reputation. The Maidenhead Inn, which stood at the south-east corner of this, was a favourite resort for mealmen and country waggoners. There was in this street also a tavern called the Turk's Head, where Haggart Hoggarty planned the murder of Mr. Steele on Hounslow Heath in 1802.
Her companion looked cheerful and secure. "How CAN you without knowing ?" "Oh by guessing! It's not ?" But that was as far as Mrs. Dyott could get. "It's not," said Maud, "any one you've ever seen." "Ah then I give you up!" And Mrs. Dyott conformed for the rest of Maud's stay to the spirit of this speech. It was made on a Saturday night, and Mrs.
Maud spoke then as if moved only by the elements. "Do you expect him through all this?" Mrs. Dyott just waited, and it had the effect, indescribably, of making everything that had gone before seem to have led up to the question. This effect was even deepened by the way she then said "Whom do you mean?" "Why I thought you mentioned at luncheon that Colonel Voyt was to walk over. Surely he can't."
I don't think I shall tell you anything of the sort. I don't know that I even agree with your premiss." "About such relations?" He looked agreeably surprised. "You think we make them larger? or subtler?" Mrs. Blessingbourne leaned back, not looking, like Mrs. Dyott, at the fire, but at the ceiling. "I don't know what I think." "It's not that she doesn't know," Mrs. Dyott remarked.
Dyott rather detached herself, mainly gazing, as she leaned back, at the fire; she intervened, however, enough to relieve Maud of the sense of being listened to. That sense, with Maud, was too apt to convey that one was listened to for a fool.
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