United States or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The aunt walked in front with Lady Grenellen, a tall woman with a keen, dark face of the red Indian type, with pure white hair, beautifully done, and a perfect dignity of carriage. The heiress followed with the Duke. She is small and plump and feminine-looking, with the sweetest dimpled face and great brown eyes. Both were exquisitely dressed and carried little bags at their waists.
"And if you do bon soir, monsieur," and I rose, laughing, and joined my hostess. The party this time was much nicer than the former one I came to. It was composed of clever, interesting people. The conversation was often brilliant and elevating. No one talked like Babykins or Lady Grenellen. In fact, it appeared another society altogether.
When we got back, Augustus was swinging Lady Grenellen in a lovely Louis XV. balançoire, fixed up between two elm-trees; she put one foot out, and looked so lovely and radiant! Augustus had the expression of one of those negro pages Thackeray drew in The Virginians a mixture of pride and self-complacency a he held the red silk ropes. Tea was so merry!
"It would be as well to know their name," he said, as he sauntered after her trailing skirts. "Cadwallader Miss Martina B. Cadwallader that is the aunt, and Miss Corrisande K. Trumpet that is the niece," said Lady Grenellen, stalking ahead. The windows of the long gallery where we were all sitting looked onto the court-yard, and two flys passed the angle of the turret.
It is no wonder Englishmen are so full of assurance, the way they are treated. You would never find an American woman showing a man she was madly jealous of him, like Lady Grenellen did last night. Why, we keep them in their places across the Atlantic." "So I have heard," I said.
At Rugby we had a quarter of an hour to wait. Nothing of the other couple was to be seen. Apparently they must have missed the train, after all. A few moments before the branch train started a special dashed into the station, and out got Lady Grenellen and Augustus. She was looking most radiant and lovely, but Augustus had an expression of unease and self-consciousness as he greeted us.
Although the salon is immense, the ten or twelve women all crowded around the fireplace. It was a damp, chilly evening. They all seemed to know one another very well, and called each other by their Christian names, so until Babykins again gave me some information I did not realize who people were. The purple lady is Lady Grenellen; her husband is at the war. She is most attractive.
Augustus and Lady Grenellen would have arrived by the time I got down to the hall again. They ought to have been here before me, but no doubt the train was late. The soft crêpe de chine of my skirts made no frou-frou. Antony did not see me as I looked over the bend of the stairs descending; he was staring into the fire, an expression I have never seen before on his face. I stopped.
Augustus and Lady Grenellen fog-bound in London, and you and I here, it is the fault of none of us." "I like a fog," said Antony, with his old, whimsical smile, all trace of seriousness departed. "A good, useful thing, a fog. Hope it won't lift in a hurry." "Now come and show me the ancestors," I said.
Awfully worried at your being alone there. Shall come by last train." Antony handed the two others to me. One was from Lady Grenellen, the other from Augustus, both expressing their annoyance and regret. The telegrams were all sent off at the same hour from Piccadilly, so apparently they were together, my husband and his friend. "It is comic," I said, "this situation!
Word Of The Day