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Updated: May 25, 2025
Manders would have the whole story, too, helped out with first-rate mimicry, running through the Thespian Club by dinner-time; it would spread in twenty-fours through all of the London that knew him and half of the London that knew her; and Eric Lane would be quoted as the latest foil or companion in the latest Barbara Neave story.
She was his wife, that little pale girl, and all the rest of his life had been a dream. Then the door opened, and young Charles, standing in the light, put his hands by his side and shouted like a young soldier, "Dinner is on the table, sir!" "I'm coming, I'm coming," said old Mr. Neave. Eleven o'clock. A knock at the door... I hope I haven't disturbed you, madam. You weren't asleep were you?
Was it desperation, defiance, an indifferent resolve to give him one last chance or his own hypercritical fancy? They were still talking when Barbara was announced. "Gracious! Is it eight?" Agnes cried, looking at her watch. "I thought it was only seven. We must fly. Dick's taking me to a revue." "Won't you wait for a cocktail?" Eric asked. "By the way, I don't think you know Lady Barbara Neave.
The outbreak was so unlike Neave that I remember every word of it: remember, too, saying in answer: "But, look here, Neave, you wouldn't take Daunt's hands for yours, I imagine?" He stared a moment and smiled. "Have all that, and grope my way through it like a blind cave fish? What a question!
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Jawan the Kurd drew his neave from the dish as it were a camel's hoof and rolled the lump of rice in the palm of his hand, till it was like a big orange, and threw it ravenously into his mouth; and it rolled down his gullet, with a rumble like thunder and the bottom of the deep dish appeared where said mouthful had been.
He laughed, and stood up with a little shrug of disenchantment. "And so you're impenitent?" I paused. "And yet you're buying some of the things back?" Neave laughed again, ironically. "I knew you'd find me out and call me to account. Well, yes: I'm buying back." He stood before me half sheepish, half defiant. "I'm buying back because there's nothing else as good in the market.
Neave. "Gracious, father! What a fright you gave me! Have you just come home? Why isn't Charles here to help you off with your coat?" Her cheeks were crimson from playing, her eyes glittered, the hair fell over her forehead. And she breathed as though she had come running through the dark and was frightened. Old Mr. Neave stared at his youngest daughter; he felt he had never seen her before.
On either side of the carriage porch their hydrangeas famous in the town were coming into flower; the pinkish, bluish masses of flower lay like light among the spreading leaves. And somehow, it seemed to old Mr. Neave that the house and the flowers, and even the fresh marks on the drive, were saying, "There is young life here. There are girls "
In his exultation he asked me to come with him "Oh, I've the grandes et petites entrees, my dear fellow: I've made my conditions " and so it happened that I saw the first meeting between Humphrey Neave and his fate. For that collection was his fate: or, one may say, it was embodied in the Diana who was queen and goddess of the realm.
He had all my sympathy, poor Neave; yet these were trials inseparable from the collector's lot, and not always without their secret compensations. Certainly they did not wholly explain my friend's attitude; and for a moment I wondered if it were due to some strange disillusionment as to the quality of his treasures.
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