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Updated: May 13, 2025
A moment or two, and, in rags and tatters, hair streaming, and feet bare, on the stage bounded Fanchon, the Cricket. There was an uproarious greeting. Evidently it was not Miss Dane's first appearance before that audience, and still more evidently she was a prime favorite. Mr. Walraven dropped his bill, poised his lorgnette, and prepared to stare his fill.
For a time I had been marooned conversationally, and Lady Viping had engaged Sir Godfrey. Evidently he was refractory and she was back at me. "Look at it now in profile," she said, and directed me once more to that unendurable grouping. Justin again! "It's a heavy face," I said. "It's a powerful face. I wouldn't care anyhow to be up against it as people say." And the lorgnette shut with a click.
Powless, looming large between the piles of mills and vanes, like a battleship in a narrow channel, was loftily inspecting the stock through her lorgnette. Her husband, his walking stick under his arm and his hands in his pockets, was not even making the pretense of being interested; he was staring through the seaward window toward the yard and the old house.
She had no lorgnette, and she did not look me over superciliously. But she had turned my way as though confident of being pleased, and her soft eyes clouded a little, though she smiled sweetly. Her hair was silver white and curled over her forehead and around her ears. She had dimples, and she stuck her chin up like a girl when she laughed.
She adjusted her lorgnette and again took an inventory of the girl's appearance. It was eminently satisfactory even when viewed from the critical standard of Mrs. Standish Tremont. A delicately oval face, with low smooth brow, from which the night-black hair rippled in softly crested waves and clung about the temples in tiny circling ringlets, delicate as the faintest shading of a crayon pencil.
There was a general buzz of conversation. As they were busily going through the garments, Virginia remarked, "Are all these things to go to the missionaries at Tien Tsin?" and she adjusted her lorgnette to inspect the heap. "Yes," Mrs. Burke responded wearily, "and I hope they'll get what comfort they can out of 'em." "You don't seem to be very appreciative, Mrs. Burke," Virginia reproved.
Pomfret, who, remarkable as it may seem, not only recognized Austen without her lorgnette, but quite overwhelmed him with an unexpected cordiality, and declared her intention of giving them a dinner in New York. "My dear," she said, after kissing Victoria twice, "he is most distinguished-looking I had no idea and a person who grows upon one.
"You can't tell anything by this," Warren said, quickly; "it's a first night and papered." "Aren't you smart with your professional terms?" Elinor Pomeroy laughed, dropping the lorgnette through which she had been idly studying the house. "What I'D like to know," she added interestedly, "what I'D like to know is, who's doing this for Magsie Clay?
Miss Falconer tried another angle. The sight of that lorgnette had a stiffening effect upon Billy B. Hill. "You get it?" he said pleasantly. "You get the ah symphonic chord I'm striking?" "Chord?" said Miss Falconer. "Striking," she murmured in a peculiar voice. "It's all in thirds, you see," he continued. "Thirds!" came the echo. "Perhaps you're of the old school?" he observed.
As she looked at him through her tortoise-shell lorgnette, hanging from a gold chain, the gray amber of her eyes took on an insolent stare through the glasses, a strange expression, half caressing, half mocking. He must pardon her for being so late. She was sorry for her lack of attention, but she was the busiest woman in Madrid. The things she had done since luncheon!
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