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Updated: May 24, 2025
She looked about her a little wildly and said: "Oh no, no! I think I'd rather be out of doors. I'll go out on the balcony." "It's raining," said Mrs. Marshall-Smith. "No, not yet," said Morrison, making a great effort to speak in an ordinary tone. "It's only going to." He sat down at the piano. Sylvia passed him and went out to the balcony. She opened the letter and read it through very carefully.
She was out of the Bastile of right and wrong. She had a vision of what freedom from entangling responsibilities is secured by traveling. She understood her aunt's classing it as among the positive goods of life. A man in a shabby blue uniform, with a bundle of letters in his hand, walked past them towards the boat. "Oh, the mail," said Mrs. Marshall-Smith. "There may be some for us."
"No, I didn't ask him," she admitted, and then with a little wry twist of her lips, "But I rather hoped he might feel like coming." She looked down at her hands. Mrs. Marshall surprised her daughters very much by going across the room and kissing her husband's sister. Mrs. Marshall-Smith took the other's strong, hard hand between her soft fingers.
Women, especially those who consider themselves beautiful and good, escape being either kind of type, by the legerdemain with which they get what they want, and yet don't soil their fingers with predatory acts." Mrs. Marshall-Smith was, perhaps, a shade tardy in asking the question which he had evidently cast his speech to extract from her, but after an instant's pause she brought it out bravely.
Sylvia's eyes looked down it and shuddered. "Poor Arnold!" she said under her breath, pushing away her untasted cup. "I'm dull enough to find you take an odd way to show your sympathy for him," murmured Mrs. Marshall-Smith, with none of the acidity the words themselves seemed to indicate. She seemed indeed genuinely perplexed. "It's not been exactly a hilarious element in my life either.
He divides us all into two kinds: the ones that get what they want by taking it away from other people those are the dolichocephalic blonds though I believe it doesn't refer to the color of their hair. The other kind are the white folks, the unpredatory ones who have scruples, and get pushed to the wall for their pains." Mrs. Marshall-Smith turned to the young man beside her.
He attacked his plate with a straggling fork, eating negligently, as he did everything else. "She has a standing invitation, of course," said Mrs. Marshall-Smith. "Indeed, I wrote the other day, asking her if she could come here instead of to La Chance for her vacation. It's far nearer for her." "Oh, Judith couldn't waste time to go visiting," said Sylvia. "I've told you she is worth ten of me.
Marshall-Smith replied with a vivacity of surprise which carried her out of her usual delicate leisure in speech. "Pauline? Why, she never saw him in her life! What are you talking about, child?" "But, Father said I thought he seemed to mean " Sylvia halted, not able to remember in her bewilderment what it had been that Father had said.
Marshall-Smith took pains to talk to Sylvia about her father as he had been when he was a brilliant dashing youth in Paris at school, or as the acknowledged social leader of his class in the famous Eastern college. "You see, Sylvia," she explained, "having no father or mother or any near relatives, we saw more of each other than a good many brothers and sisters do.
Here comes Tojiko with the mail." She reached for the Herald with one hand, and with the other gave Sylvia a letter with the American postmark. "Oh, Tojiko," said Morrison with the familiarity of an habitué of the house, "will you tell your brother for me that I never tasted anything like his ..." Mrs. Marshall-Smith broke in with an exclamation of extreme astonishment.
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