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Updated: May 25, 2025
I dined with the widow of General Liprandi at Odessa. I saw the Arabian traveller Palgrave at Trebizond, and Baron Nicolay, the Civil Governor of the Caucasus, at Tiflis.
Of the four men, Gilbert Palgrave, standing where he could be seen, might have been an illustration by Du Maurier of one of Ouida's impossible guardsmen.
This was the first time he had driven Joan in his car. It might be the last. Harry was at the bottom of the stairs as Joan came down. "You're not going out?" he asked. She was still in day clothes, wearing a hat. "Yes, I am, Harry." "Where? Why?" She laid her hand on his arm. "Don't grudge Gilbert one evening, his last. I've been perfectly rotten to him all along." "Palgrave?
The car was running slowly. "Have you any other friends in town?" asked Martin, who seemed to be trying to hide an odd kind of excitement. "No," said Joan. "Alice is my only friend here. Drive to some place where I can call up Gilbert Palgrave and explain the whole thing. What does it matter about my being alone? If I don't mind, who should? Please do as I say.
I think I never knew any one of the male sex, with the exception of Francis Palgrave, who could keep up such an abundant stream of talk as George Leslie. This led some of his friends to think that he would never have any practical success in art, but he afterwards proved them to be in the wrong.
There was certainly more than a touch of irony in Joan's gladness to go back so soon to the cage from which she had escaped with such eagerness. There had been no word and no sign of Martin. But as Joan had run upstairs Gilbert Palgrave had come out from the drawing-room and put himself deliberately in her way. "I can't stay now, Gilbert," she had said.
Palgrave, "which has filled London with the dead monotony of Gower or Harley Streets, or the pale commonplace of Belgravia, Tyburnia, and Kensington; which has pierced Paris and Madrid with the feeble frivolities of the Rue Rivoli and the Strada de Toledo."
He couldn't believe that any of all this was true. Was there no one in all this world of people who would help him and give him a few words of advice? "Oh, Father," he said from the bottom of his heart, "dear old Father, where are you?" The telephone bell was ringing as Joan went into her room. Gilbert Palgrave spoke lightly and fluently and with easy words of flattery.
Crofton Croker made me a present of a small box of curious Irish antiquities containing a gold fibula, etc. etc. October 24 Laboured in the morning. At breakfast Dr. Holland and Cohen, whom they now call Palgrave, a mutation of names which confused my recollections. Item, Moore. I worked at the Colonial Office pretty hard. Dined with Mr.
Poor young things, misguided and falsely proud and at a loose end! What a waste of youth and spring which a few wise words of counsel would retrieve and render blessed. And as for Tootles, with her once white face and red lips and hair that came out of a bottle, Martin was to her what Joan was to Palgrave and for the same reason. Irene's hints and innuendos had taken root.
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