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Updated: September 10, 2025
Now will you shake hands with me and bid God bless me? It is to be a hard struggle for me, but I will win, for my will is strong, and the cause is good Is that you, Théo?" "Yes, father." Théo was trying the door. "Anything wrong?" he added. Joyselle turned the key. "No," he said quietly as his son entered, "but we were tired of the good company. I will go now, my dear.
When the women had left the dining-room Carron got up from his place and sat down by Joyselle, who looked at him with unconcealed astonishment. He had never liked Carron, and knew that the man did not like him. "When is your next concert to be, M. Joyselle?" "The third of June." "I I always come. I have come for years, and last June I heard you in Paris. You must like playing with Colonne."
She had wired Théo before leaving the de Lenskys', that she was leaving for home, and before starting for the dinner she had sent another wire, addressed simply "Joyselle," to say that she was dining out, but would come to Golden Square after dinner.
But she had not dared return to her room, for fear of finding Carron there. If only she had had a father "Vous etes roublée, ma fille," said Joyselle, suddenly taking one of her hands in his befurred ones; "what has happened? Can you not think of me as your old papa, and tell me?" She started, half-frightened, half angry. "I am not troubled, M. Joyselle," she returned, in French.
If she refused him now, what would be his father's attitude? She did not know. A week ago Joyselle would have hated her or thought that he did, which is practically the same thing pro tem. But now! Now that the violinist had had time to face and measure his own passion, would he not realise the futility of trying to force one's inclinations in such matters?
"Awful rot, isn't it?" queried Yelverton suddenly under cover of a roar of laughter. "Why the dickens can't they talk quietly?" "If you dislike it," she inquired unresentfully, "why do you come?" "I beg pardon, Lady Brigit, I forgot that you belonged here; I always do forget." Then Joyselle turned to her, his face so eloquent that she felt like warning him not to betray his secret.
Joyselle, who had not been listening, caught this phrase. "Mother," he said gently, taking her hand, "don't be cross, dear. He is forgetful, but try to remember the day you married him. You loved him," he winced, as if hurt by his own words, but went on in the same voice, "and God has been good in in allowing you to spend fifty years together." The old woman nodded. "I know, my son.
He was now "Joyselle"; he was, as she listened and watched, an unusually handsome, not yet middle-aged gentleman, playing the violin as an artist, but indisputably a gentleman.
"Théo has been fairly contented and I have been trying to tide things over no, I haven't, I've just funked it, Pam. I don't know what I'm to do. I've loved being here, for you and M. de Lensky are so good to me but I'm afraid he might come " "Théo?" "No," sharply, "Joyselle. He adores Théo and would hack me to pieces if it would do him any good. And well, I'm afraid of him."
What are we to do?" Through the open windows came the sounds of laughter and loud talk, and someone was playing snatches of a waltz on a violin. Brigit, feeling that things outside her own control had hastened an inevitable crisis, stood waiting with the immobility of one consciously in the hands of Fate. At last Joyselle came to her and took her in his arms.
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