Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 15, 2025
One night she sent for Matravers, and hastening to her rooms, he found her for the first time alone. "I have sent Mr. Fergusson home," she exclaimed, welcoming him with outstretched hands, but making no effort to rise from her easy chair. "Do you know that man is driving me slowly mad? I want you to interfere." "What can I do?" he said. "Anything to bring him to reason! He is over-rehearsing!
"We're getting very near now," Freddy remarked, looking over the apron of the cab. "My! won't dada be surprised to see me drive up in a cab with you! I hope he's at the window!" "Will your father be at home now?" Matravers asked. Freddy stared at him. "Why, of course! Dad's always at home! Is my face very buggy? Don't rub it any more, please. That's Jack Mason over there! I play with him.
My nerves are all quivering. I could not sleep! Tell me where you have been." Matravers took the seat to which she motioned him, and obeyed her, watching, whilst she stooped down over the fire and poured water into a brazen coffee-pot, and took another cup and saucer from a quaint little cupboard.
Every moment of her time was claimed by Fergusson, who, in his anxiety to produce a play from which he hoped so much before the wane of the season, gave no one any rest, and worked himself almost into a fever. There were two full rehearsals a day, and many private ones at her rooms. Matravers calling there now and then found Fergusson always in possession, and by degrees gave it up in despair.
Matravers laid his hand upon hers, and leaned forward in his chair. "Lady Truton's was the very worst house you could have gone to," he said gently. "You must not be too discouraged all at once. The women of her set, thank God, are not in the least typical Englishwomen. They are fast and silly, a few, I am afraid, worse.
"I am not aware," Matravers answered calmly, "of any reason why I should do so." Mr. Thorndyke raised his eyebrows, and drew an afternoon paper from his pocket. "This is your writing, is it not?" he asked. Matravers glanced at the paragraph. "Certainly!" Mr. Thorndyke threw the paper upon the table.
"You are quite right," the man answered bitterly. "They have not! They have gone very wrong indeed; and I have no one to blame but myself." "I am sorry," Matravers said. "You are an invalid, too, are you not?" "I am worse than an invalid," the man on the couch groaned. "I am a prisoner on my back, most likely for ever; curse it! I have had a paralytic stroke. I can't think why I couldn't die!
She made the coffee carefully and well, and Matravers, as he lit his cigarette, found himself wondering at this new and very natural note of domesticity in her.
He patted the boy's head, not unkindly, and Matravers found words. "My cab unfortunately knocked your little boy down near Trafalgar Square, but I am thankful to say that he was not hurt. I thought that I had better bring him straight home, though, as he has had a roll in the dust." At the sound of Matravers' voice, the man started and looked at him earnestly. A dull red flush stained his cheeks.
I can't read anything but newspapers; and lately I haven't dared to spend a penny, because of Freddy, you know! It's so cursed lonely!" "I will come, and I will bring you something to read," Matravers promised. "I must go now!" John Drage held out his hand wistfully. "Good-by," he said. "You're a good man! I wish I'd been like you. It's an odd thing for me to say, but God bless you, sir."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking