Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 3, 2025
Having safely consigned all the McEwans of the universe to pig-sties and perdition, he walked off to cool himself, the sketch under his arm, leaving both his hearers incontinently dumb. McEwan recovered first. "The puir young mon suffers wi' his temper, there's nae dooting," said he, addressing himself to the task of entertaining his rather absent-minded companion.
Then, too, McEwan would appear at week-ends or in the evening, tramping down the lane to hail the house in absurd varieties of the latest New York slang, which, never failed to amuse Mary. The shy Jamie was often with her; they were now the most intimate of friends.
Stefan had moved with Felicity toward her sofa, and, as she disposed herself, she seemed to be talking to him in French. McEwan and Farraday continued their survey. Mary was surrounded by people, but her eyes strayed across the room. Felicity appeared almost animated, but Stefan seemed inattentive; he fidgeted, and looked vague.
But she never sought him out, never snubbed McEwan for his intrusions into their tete-a-tetes, seemed not to be "managing" the affair in any way. Used to more obvious methods, most of the company were puzzled. They did not understand that they were watching the romance of a woman who added perfect breeding to her racial self-control.
The high-bosomed matron confided her fears for the happiness of the girl, "who has been real kind to Johnnie," to the spinster who had admired Stefan the first day out. Gossip was universal, but through it all the two moved radiant and oblivious. McEwan had succeeded in his fell design of getting up a concert, and the event was to take place that night.
Thayer, Constance, and the men fell upon the stronger beverages, while Mary and the girls divided the milk. Under cover of the general chatter McEwan raised his glass to Constance. "I take off my hat to you, Mrs. Elliot, for a stage manager," he whispered, glancing at the other women. "A black-haired soubrette, a brown pony, and a redheaded slip; no rivals to the leading lady in this show!"
No couple on the floor compared with them in distinction and grace, and they danced, to the chagrin of the other men and girls, almost entirely together. Whatever disappointment this caused, however, was not shared by their hostess and McEwan. After enduring several rounds of Mac's punishing dancing, Constance was thankful to sit out with him and watch the others.
"Yes, I like that." "And for a second," he spun round on his stool, "what do you say to a duet?" His candid blue eyes twinkled at her. "A duet!" she exclaimed in genuine surprise. "Do you sing, Mr. McEwan?" "Once in a while," and, soft pedal down, he played a few bars of Marzials' "My True Love Hath My Heart," humming the words in an easy barytone. "Oh, what fun!" exclaimed Mary. "I love that."
"Nor a more charming, I should think," added Mary, looking about at the restful tones of the room, with its landscapes, its beautifully chosen old furniture, and its flowers. "The owner thanks you," he acknowledged, with his kindly smile. "Business, business," interjected McEwan, who, Mary was amused to observe, approximated much more to the popular idea of an American than did his friend.
The next day was their last, leave- takings were in the air, and toward afternoon a bustle of packing. Stefan was in a mood of slight reaction from his excitement of the night before. While Mary packed for them both he prowled uncertainly about the house, and, finding the men in the library, whiled away the time in an utterly impossible attempt to quarrel with McEwan on some theory of art.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking