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Updated: May 25, 2025
You know old Daunt was a surly brute, and the things weren't easily seen; but he had heard Neave was in London, and had sent yes, actually sent! for him to come and give his opinion on a few bits, including the Diana. The little man bore himself discreetly, but you can imagine his pride.
Neave got up and went to join that little old climbing fellow just as far as his dressing-room... There young Charles was waiting for him. Carefully, as though everything depended on it, he was tucking a towel round the hot-water can. Young Charles had been a favourite of his ever since as a little red-faced boy he had come into the house to look after the fires. Old Mr.
"Two. Four," he counted timidly. "Babs Neave is sure to be late. That leaves only Lane. Does every one know him?" An indistinct murmur was drowned by Gaymer, who knitted his brows and repeated: "Lane? Eric Lane? The dramatist fellow? I saw something about him in one of the picture-papers to-day, when I was having my hair cut. Oh, I know! He'd left London, and letters weren't going to be forwarded.
But they weren't nameless or meaningless to Neave; his strength lay in his instinct for identifying, putting together, seeing significant relations. He was a regular Cuvier of bric-a-brac. And during those early years, when he had time to brood over trifles and note imperceptible differences, he gradually sharpened his instinct, and made it into the delicate and redoubtable instrument it is.
You used to say it was your idea of heaven to stretch out your hand and have a great ripe sphere of beauty drop into it. I'm quoting your own words, by the way." Neave blinked and stroked his seedy moustache. "Oh, yes. I remember the phrase. It's true it is the last luxury." "The thing that bothered me was having to move. I couldn't cram all the stuff into my old quarters."
After pausing on the threshold to see who was present, Lady Barbara Neave entered the room falteringly and with a suggestion that she was belatedly repenting a too venturesome effect in dress. The men, she knew, were only watching her eyes and waiting for the surprised smile of recognition which always made them feel that they had been missed; but Mrs.
The news ran like wildfire from Rome to Berlin, from Paris to London and New York. Was Neave ruined, then? Wrong again the dealers nosed that out in no time. He was simply selling because he chose to sell; and in due time the things came up at Christie's.
Well, last month I was in Rome, for the first time in six or seven years, and of course I looked about for Neave. The Palazzo Neave was let to some rich Russians, and the splendid new porter didn't know where the proprietor lived.
A man had either to put his whole heart and soul into it, or it went all to pieces before his eyes... And then Charlotte and the girls were always at him to make the whole thing over to Harold, to retire, and to spend his time enjoying himself. Enjoying himself! Old Mr. Neave stopped dead under a group of ancient cabbage palms outside the Government buildings! Enjoying himself!
Of this tour I shall not give the reader any very particular account. I shall mention only those things which are most worthy of his notice in it. At Poole in Dorsetshire I laid the foundation of a committee, to act in harmony with that of London for the promotion of the cause. Moses Neave, of the respectable society of the Quakers, was the chairman; Thomas Bell, the secretary, and Ellis.
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