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Updated: May 7, 2025
They found many things to talk about, and to the pleasure of feeling the hours slip along like some silver stream Longmore was able to add the satisfaction of suspecting that he was a "resource" for Madame de Mauves.
At the water's edge they saw a tiny village nestled close against the mountains, its tiled roofs rust-red and grown to moss, its walls faded by wind and weather to delicate mauves and dove colors and greens impossible to describe.
Not crewel work, not church embroidery, not anything which would admit of the use of modern art colors, but genuine, old-fashioned worsted work. Mrs. Cameron delighted in the flaring scarlets, pinks, greens, blues, and mauves of thirty years ago. She admired with all her soul the hard, staring flowers which these colors produced. They looked, she said, substantial and durable.
The gentleman observed it, and observed also, apparently, that the room beyond them was empty; that he stood within eyeshot of Longmore he failed to observe. He stooped suddenly and imprinted a gallant kiss on the fair expanse. In the author of this tribute Longmore then recognised Richard de Mauves.
It glimmered upon him odiously M. de Mauves might grow ashamed of his political compact with his wife, and he felt how far more tolerable it would be in future to think of him as always impertinent than to think of him as occasionally contrite.
"You're too superficial to be a great peacemaker. You don't begin to know anything about Madame de Mauves." She inclined her head to one side while her fine eyes kept her visitor in view; she mused a moment and then smiled as with a certain compassionate patience. "It's not in my interest to contradict you."
Richard de Mauves, we have seen, considered he had; but there was doubtless now something in this young woman's eyes that had not been there five years before. The two men conversed formally enough, and M. de Mauves threw off a light bright remark or two about his visit to America. His tone was not soothing to Longmore's excited sensibilities.
Belonging to a great order of things, she patronised the young stranger who was ready to sit all day at her feet and listen to anecdotes of the bon temps and quotations from the family chronicles. Madame de Mauves was a very honest old woman; she uttered her thoughts with ancient plainness.
Even unwillingly. In fact, all Randolph's decisions you fought until he made you surrender. You know how you wanted gay-colored gowns until he made you see that grays and mauves were better taste." "Never mind my peccadilloes," said Ruth, lightly. "Let's talk of something less personal."
Then on my foundation I threw an over-dress of pompadour lace of very soft tones: greens, pinks, mauves, cream, and azure. Very large sleeves with a double puff of blue velvet, wristlets of Venetian point. Am I clear?" "Oh, very clear, very clear." And in an excited voice she repeated: "A double puff of blue velvet, with wristlets of Venetian point."
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