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Updated: May 29, 2025
He heard the well-known step come downstairs and cross the hall. The front door closed, and Lord Findon was still balancing the paper-knife. Would he really marry that nice child Elsie? Elsie Bligh was a cousin of the Findons; a fair-haired, slender slip of a thing, the daughter of a retired Indian general.
And it was, too, as if the present state of things as if the new hardness in Elsie's eyes, and the strange hostility of her manner, especially towards the Findons, and her cousin Eugénie threw light on earlier years, on many a puzzling trait and incident of the past.
Great luck he admitted all this for a nameless artist of the people, only six months in London. He owed it to Cuningham, and believed himself grateful. Cuningham was often at the Findons, made a point, indeed, of going. Was it to maintain his place with them, and to keep Fenwick under observation?
It flattered his vanity enormously, however, to be thus within touch of the inner circle in politics and art; for the Findons had relations and friends in all the foremost groups of both; and incidentally Fenwick, who had the grudges and some of the dreams of the democrat, was beginning to have a glimpse of the hidden springs and powers of English society to his no small bewilderment often!
The Findons had given a ball the year before for her coming-out, and she had danced through the season, haloed, Euphrosyne-like, by a charm of youth and laughter till she met Arthur Welby. Since then Euphrosyne had grown a little white and piteous, and there had been whisperings and shakings of the head amongst the grown-ups who were fond of her.
'We'll talk it over. Well, good-bye. Don't forget old Dick. Fenwick walked on, fuming. Cuningham, he said to himself, was now the type of busy, pretentious mediocrity, the type which eternally keeps English art below the level of the Continent. 'I say one moment! Have you had any news of the Findons lately?
Ta-ta! He waved his hand, and the hansom moved away. Fenwick pursued his walk plunged in disagreeable thought. 'Much changed? What did that mean? He had noticed no such change before the Findons left London. The words fell like a fresh blow upon a wound. He turned north, toward Lincoln's Inn Fields, called at the offices of Messrs.
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