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Updated: May 1, 2025
Flamby met his gaze honestly and was satisfied. "Yes," she replied. "Myself and what is mine to you and yours is now converted." The end of the quotation was almost inaudible, for it had leapt from Flamby's tongue unbidden. The idea that Don might suspect her of seeking to impress him with her learning was hateful to her. But Don on the contrary was quite frankly delighted.
With some few items of glassware, vases and pictures purchased elsewhere, Flamby's expenditure amounted to more than twenty-five pounds, at which staggering total she stared in dismay. "Shall I really be able to pay it?" she asked. "My dear Flamby, you have only just begun. The really essential things you will be able to buy when the Aunt is with you.
Don's eyes began to sparkle again. "No doubt I should have found the experience of great educational value," he said; "but did he often swear in Latin?" "Not often; only when he was very drunk." "What was his favourite tongue when he was merely moderately so?" Flamby's expression underwent a faint change, and looking down she bit her under-lip.
He had encouraged this conversation with the purpose of diverting Flamby's mind from her sorrow, and he was glad to have succeeded so well. "Do men hate you, too," he asked. "No, I get on much better with men. There are some fearful rotters, of course, but most men are honest enough if you are honest with them."
Something in the contrast between this joyless gloom and the sun-gay hills she had known and loved brought a sudden mist before Flamby's eyes, so that she remained unaware of the presence of a certain genial officer until a voice which was vaguely familiar said: "Your train was late, Miss Duveen." Flamby started, stared, and found Donald Courtier standing smiling at her.
Furthermore, it represented a living animal, soft of fleece and inviting a caress and was drawn with almost insolent ease. Paul looked into the girl's watching eyes. "You are an artist, Flamby," he said; "and like all artists you are unduly critical of your work." A rich colour glowed through the tan upon Flamby's cheeks and she was aware of a delicious little nervous thrill.
Flamby's extraordinary erudition and inherent cleverness had not prepared him for this childish ignorance of the value of money.
Flamby looked up at him doubtfully, read sincerity in the grey eyes, and smiled again at once. "He wouldn't have minded a bit," she explained, "but I'm only a woman after all, and women are daft." "I cannot allow you to be a woman yet, Flamby. You are only a girl, and I want you to think of me " Flamby's pretty lips assumed a mischievous curve and a tiny dimple appeared in her cheek.
He was inspired; anger and sorrow drove him remorselessly on and a chill finger seemed to touch Flamby's heart as she listened; for resignation and finality informed his speech. "Each human soul must fight its way out of the night of the valley, Flamby, before it can pass the gates of dawn. Each error is a step in the path and there are steps right to the top.
Liberty's which is devoted to the display of velvet robes of those simple, unadorned creations which Golders Green may view unmoved but which stir the æsthetic soul of Chelsea. In the centre of the window, cunningly draped before an oak-pannelled background, hung a dress of grey velvet which was the apogee and culmination of Flamby's dreams.
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