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Updated: June 27, 2025
Dyott was fond of ancient French furniture and distinctly difficult about it, her inmates could be fond with whatever critical cocks of charming dark-braided heads over slender sloping shoulders of modern French authors.
"Do you carry them by the dozen ?" "Into innocent British homes?" Maud tried to remember. "I believe I brought three seeing them in a shop-window as I passed through town. It never rains but it pours! But I've already read two." "And are they the only ones you do read?" "French ones?" Maud considered. "Oh no. D'Annunzio." "And what's that?" Mrs. Dyott asked as she affixed a stamp.
"Then when you begin again you read a mass?" "Dear no. I only keep up with three or four authors." He laughed at this over the cigarette he had been allowed to light. "I like your 'keeping up, and keeping up in particular with 'authors." "One must keep up with somebody," Mrs. Dyott threw off. "I daresay I'm ridiculous," Mrs.
"They've been in long enough to point a moral. That is to point ours!" With which, and as if a sudden flush of warmer light had moved him, Colonel Voyt got up. The veil of the storm had parted over a great red sunset. Mrs. Dyott also was on her feet, and they stood before his charming antagonist, who, with eyes lowered and a somewhat fixed smile, had not moved.
"Surely," Maud replied. "But if it's an innocent one " "Doesn't it depend a good deal," Mrs. Dyott asked, "on what you call innocent?" "You mean that the adventures of innocence have so often been the material of fiction? Yes," Voyt replied; "that's exactly what the bored reader complains of. He has asked for bread and been given a stone.
Now and again some poet or prosaist may have said to another, "What has become of that man Soames?" but I never heard any such question asked. As for his landlady in Dyott Street, no doubt he had paid her weekly, and what possessions he may have had in his rooms were enough to save her from fretting.
"You have to be in, you know, to GET out. So there you are already with your relation. It's the end of your goodness." "And the beginning," said Voyt, "of your play!" "Aren't they all, for that matter, even the worst," Mrs. Dyott pursued, "supposed SOME time or other to get out? But if meanwhile they've been in, however briefly, long enough to adorn a tale?"
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