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He mounted the boy on to his shoulder and turned round to Miss Rossiter to say "Good-bye." The photograph lay on the table between them "I shan't forget that," he said. "Oh! but you must come and see us one day. My mother will be delighted. There are a lot more photographs at home. You must bring him out one day, Norah," she said turning to Miss Monogue.
"We won't say any more about it until I have read it then we'll talk." They were silent for a little. He was feeling unhappy and, curiously enough, frightened. He would have liked to jump up suddenly and shout, "Well, what's going to happen now?" not only to Norah Monogue, but to London, to all the world. The work at the book had, during these years, upheld him with a sense of purpose and aim.
Her mother's death had left her some fifty pounds a year and she earned another fifty pounds by typewriting. Untidy in everything else, in her work she was scrupulously neat. Aubrey Beardsley. Miss Monogue believed in the movement and rejected the affectations. In 1895, when the reaction began, she defended her old giants, but looked forward eagerly to new ones.
As the door opened and he stepped into the hall he heard, faintly, across the flat spaces of the Square "Tap-tap-tap-tap-clamp-clamp...." Even Mrs. Brockett, who might be considered if any one in the world, immune from morbid imaginations, felt the heaviness of the day, suggested a prevalence of thunder, and shook her head when Peter asked about Miss Monogue. "She's bad, Mr.
"You only care for fools and children Mrs. Brockett always says so." They went downstairs Peter was, of course, not hungry at all, but the conventions had to be observed. In the sitting-room, round about the green settee, the company was waiting as it had waited seven years ago; there were one or two unimportant additions and Mrs. Monogue had died the year before and Mrs.
"Oh! but my fingers are all over orange never mind, we'll smile at one another. I hope you'll like the place, I'm sure. I always have an orange before dinner. They've got used to me, you know. We've all got our little habits." "Dinner!" she said, laconically. A procession was formed, Mrs. Monogue, with her shawls sweeping behind her, sailed in front, and Peter brought up the rear. Mrs.
He even, standing there in his little room and looking over the London roofs, despised the writer's inaction.... Often again he was to know that rivalry. A quarter of an hour before supper he went down to say good-bye to Miss Monogue. She was sitting quietly reading and he thought suddenly, as he came upon her, there under the light of her candles in the grey room, that she did not look well.
Peter looked, with new eyes, at the lady so sternly sewing. "You don't know," Miss Monogue went on in her soft, pleasant voice, "how horrible these boarding-houses can be. Mother and I have tried a good many. But here people stay for ever a pretty good testimony to it, I think ... and then, you know, she never lets any one stay here if she doesn't like them so that prevents scoundrels.
Peter noticed other things. He noticed that Mrs. Monogue was an exceedingly ill-tempered and selfish woman, and that she bullied the pleasant girl with the untidy hair throughout the meal, and that the girl took it all in the easiest possible way. He noticed that Mrs.
I don't think Clare in the least cares now about my writing she almost resents it; she cared at first when she thought that I was going to make a huge success of it, but now " "But, of course," said Miss Monogue, "that success comes slowly it must if it's going to be any use at all " "Well, she doesn't see that.
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