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Updated: June 25, 2025
Seated at the young man's side on the satin cushions, he remained silent while the carriage rolled smoothly and rapidly through the net-work of streets leading to the Boulevard Saint-Germain; only once he remarked, glancing at the elaborate fittings of the coupe: "Is this Mrs. Newell's carriage?"
He had expected, as the result of the interview, to which she promptly, almost eagerly, assented, no more than the glimpse of brightly lit vistas which a waiting messenger may catch through open doors; but instead he had found himself drawn at once into the inner sanctuary, not of London society, but of Mrs. Newell's relation to it.
Yet, for a man so self-contained, he had much to give to those about him, whether these were men already enjoying place and power or merely boys just on the horizon of a real man's life. It was not so much the mere joy and exuberance of living, as the wonder and appreciation of living that were the springs of Marshall Newell's being.
Through the glow of lights and the perfumed haze about the altar, Garnett's eyes rested on the central figures of the group, and gradually the others disappeared from his view and his mind. After all, neither Mrs. Newell's schemes nor his own share in them could ever unsanctify Hermione's marriage.
Hubbard went about aureoled with the importance of her close connection with an "aristocratic marriage," and dazzled by the Baron's familiarity with the intricacies of the Almanach de Gotha. In his society and Mrs. Newell's, Mrs. Hubbard evidently felt that she had penetrated to the sacred precincts where "the right thing" flourished in its native soil.
Newell's horizon. Hermione's marriage had drawn them back, bad once more made her mother a social entity, had in short already accomplished the object for which it had been planned and executed. And as he looked about him Garnett saw that all the other actors in the show faded into insignificance beside the dominant figure of Mrs.
Newell's drawing-room, but they had hitherto been taken by persons who had at least the superiority of knowing what they were permitting themselves, whereas the young man felt almost sure that Baron Schenkelderff's manner was the most distinguished he could achieve; and this deepened the disgust with which, as the minutes passed, he yielded to the conviction that the Baron was Mrs. Newell's aunt.
Yes but there were limits there were only so many sets of people, at least in her social classification, and when she came to an end of them, what then? Was this flight to Paris a sign that she had come to an end was she going to try Paris because London had failed her? The time of year precluded such a conjecture. Mrs. Newell's Paris was non-existent in September.
Garnett coloured with embarrassment: the more simply the old man took his mission the more complicated it appeared to himself. "From your wife and from Miss Newell," he said at length. "You have perhaps heard that she is to be married." "Oh, yes I read the Herald pretty faithfully," said Miss Newell's parent, shaking out another handful of crumbs. Garnett cleared his throat.
It made Garnett shiver to think of her growing old between her mother and Schenkelderff, or such successors of the Baron's as might probably attend on Mrs. Newell's waning fortunes; for it was clear to him that the Baron marked the first stage in his friend's decline. When Garnett took leave that evening he had promised Mrs. Newell that he would try to find her husband. IF Mr.
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