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Updated: May 21, 2025
On the green beyond Cassy could see them, could see, too, a squirrel there that had gone quite mad. It flew around and around, stopped suddenly short, chattered furiously and with a flaunt of the tail, disappeared up a tree. "What a dear!" was Cassy's reply to that question. But Paliser gave her all the rope that she wanted.
A war-bride!" But Paliser, who had his fill, was rising and, abandoning histrionics, she resumed: "The 24th at eight; don't forget!" Then as he passed from the portal, the priestess lifted her hands. "What a fish! Fast or loose, what a fish!" Above her Mammon glowed, behind her leered Priapus. Through the sunny streets, Paliser drove to the Athenæum, where everybody was talking war.
The crumple affected Cassy but far less than she had expected. Paliser had been very gentlemanly. He had deferred to her in all things, agreed with her about everything, and though none the less he always had his own way, yet the pedestal was so obvious that if she had not known otherwise she might have thought herself continuously upon it.
Apart from down-stage and the centre of it, apart, too, from the flys and the dressing-rooms, Cassy's imagination had not as yet conceived anything more beckoning than a box at the opera, even though, as on this occasion, the opera happened to be a concert. "Why, yes. Only " Pausing, she looked about. The imperial lady had gone. "Only what?" Paliser very needlessly asked for he knew.
'Una voce poco fa! That would be just the thing wouldn't it? to sing privately in private." Paliser answered, though what, she did not hear.
Oughtn't I to have my money back?" "Poppet ought to make you pay twice," Mrs. Austen heartlessly retorted at this woman, the relict of Nicholas Amsterdam, concerning whom a story had come out and who had died, his friends said, of exposure. Mrs. Amsterdam turned on Paliser whom she had never seen before. "What do you say?" "I am appalled," he answered. She turned again.
Of herself she did not think and regarding Margaret she did not care. That which occupied her was Lennox. But was it true? In Paliser nothing was true, not even his lies. For it was unaccountable that a matter so simple could not have been cleared with a word. But it was not unaccountable at all. It was obvious. Margaret, a born snob, had given Lennox no chance for that word.
You ought to write for the comic papers, thought Verelst, who said: "Well, there is one comfort. It can't last forever." With feigned sympathy Mrs. Austen took it up. "Ah, yes, but meanwhile there is that poor Belgium!" "By the way," Paliser threw in. "I have a box or two for the Relief Fund at the Splendor to-night. Would anybody care to go?"
If a spectacle can drip, that had dripped and with possibilities which, if dim as yet, were none the less providential, particularly when viewed spaciously, in the light of other possibilities which Paliser exhaled. Mrs. Austen was a woman of distinction. You had only to look at her to be aware of it. Yet, at the possible possibilities, she licked her chops.
All were hurriedly getting up. Paliser turned to Margaret. She had gone. Verelst now was between him and her chair. He was bending over. Bending also was Mrs. Austen. On the other side were Cantillon, Ogston and Miss Bleecker. Then, as the surprise of it lifted Paliser, he saw that they were lifting her. "Brandy!" said Verelst. "Tell the man." "Permit me!"
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