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Updated: June 17, 2025
Little Laurencine, aged eight, and little Lois, aged five, in their summer white, were fondling her, tumbling about her, burying themselves in her; she reclined careless, benignant, and acquiescent under their tiny assaults; it was at moments as though the three were one being.
Lucas neither spoke nor understood French he had been to a great public school. Nevertheless these three attained positive loquacity. Lucas guessed at words, or the Frenchman obliged with bits of English, or Laurencine interpreted. Laurencine was far less prim and far more girlish than at the Café Royal. She kept all the freshness of her intensely virginal quality, but she was at ease.
The Alderman refused regretfully. "I've got a new rule now. I don't smoke till after dinner." There was a pause. "I'm glad we came." "So'm I." "You needn't worry about anything. Your mother and I will see to everything. I'll go up and have a talk with Johnnie about the leases." "Thanks." "What about money?" "I'll write you. No hurry." "What sort of a woman is Laurencine?
I was in the Viceroy's house-party," she answered mildly. And then she said to Lucas that she had sat three times to photographers that week "They won't leave me alone" but that the proofs were none of them satisfactory. At this Laurencine Ingram boldly and blushingly protested, maintaining that one of them was lovely.
The woman was taciturn by nature, and yet she was constantly saying too much! And did any of the three of them Lois, Laurencine, and Lucas really appreciate the war? They did not. They could not envisage it. Lucas was wearing uniform solely in obedience to an instinct. At this point the cycle of his reflections was completed, and began again.
The news impressed. Even the young woman in black permitted herself by a facial gesture to show that she was interested in the war as well as in tea-gowns, and apart from its effect on tea-gowns. "Oh! Dear!" murmured Laurencine. "Is it serious?" Lois demanded. "You bet it is!" George replied. "But what's Sir John French doing, then?
Her rather large body was at ease, continually restless in awkward and exquisite gestures; she laughed at ease, and made fun at ease. She appeared to have no sex-consciousness, nor even to suspect that she was a most delightful creature. The conversation was disjointed in its gaiety, and had no claim to the attention of the serious. Laurencine said that Lucas ought really to know French.
She could not easily be agreeable; she could easily be rude; she could not play the piano like the delightful Laurencine. But she was passionate. And she knew the force of ambition. He admired ambition perhaps more than anything. Ambition roused him. She was ambitious when she drove the automobile and endangered his life.... She had called him by his Christian name quite naturally.
Vice. The six people were soon divided into two equal groups, one silent and the other talkative, the talkative three being M. Defourcambault, Laurencine and Lucas. The diplomatist, though he could speak diplomatic English, persisted in speaking French. Laurencine spoke French quite perfectly, with exactly the same idiomatic ease as the Frenchman.
"We never dreamed " "Of course not. Of course not." "But why did she " "Another man, my dear sir! Another man! A young man named Defourcambault, in the French Embassy in London." "Oh, him!" George burst out. "I know him," he added fiercely. "You do? Yes, I remember Laurencine saying.... Poor Irene, I fear, was very deeply in love with him. She had written to Mr. X about Defourcambault.
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