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Did Father know that he called her mother "Annette"? Always on the side of her Father as children are ever on one side or the other in houses where relations are a little strained she stood, uncertain. Her mother was speaking in her low, pleasing, slightly metallic voice one word she caught: "Demain." And Profond's answer: "All right." Fleur frowned. A little sound came out into the stillness.
He resembled one of his own gilt-edged securities, and to knock the gilt off by seeing anything he could avoid seeing would be, he felt instinctively, perverse and retrogressive. Those two crumpled rose-leaves, Fleur's caprice and Monsieur Profond's snout, would level away if he lay on them industriously.
"I don't, Annette." Did Father know that he called her mother "Annette"? Always on the side of her father as children are ever on one side or the other in houses where relations are a little strained she stood, uncertain. Her mother was speaking in her low, pleasing, slightly metallic voice one word she caught: "Demain." And Profond's answer: "All right." Fleur frowned.
Then Profond's voice: "I'm takin' a small stroll." Fleur darted through the window into the morning-room. There he came from the drawing-room, crossing the verandah, down the lawn; and the click of billiard-balls which, in listening for other sounds, she had ceased to hear, began again. She shook herself, passed into the hall, and opened the drawing-room door.
She was taking Profond's defection with curious quietude; or was his "small" voyage just a blind? If so, he should refuse to see it! Having promenaded round the pitch and in front of the pavilion, they sought Winifred's table in the Bedouin Club tent.
He resembled one of his own gilt-edged securities, and to knock the gilt off by seeing anything he could avoid seeing would be, he felt instinctively, perverse and retrogressive. Those two crumpled rose-leaves, Fleur's caprice and Monsieur Profond's snout, would level away if he lay on them industriously.
A little sound came out into the stillness. Then Profond's voice: "I'm takin' a small stroll." Fleur darted through the window into the morning room. There he came from the drawing-room, crossing the verandah, down the lawn; and the click of billiard-balls which, in listening for other sounds, she had ceased to hear, began again.
Here it was again the same thing, only larger, more expensive, and now it played: "The Wild Wild Women" and "The Policeman's Holiday," and he was no longer in black velvet with a sky-blue collar. 'Profond's right, he thought, 'there's nothing in it! We're all progressing to the grave! And with that surprising mental comment he walked out. He did not see Fleur again that night.
He resembled one of his own gilt-edged securities, and to knock the gilt off by seeing anything he could avoid seeing, would be, he felt instinctively, perverse and retrogressive. Those two crumpled rose-leaves, Fleur's caprice and Monsieur Profond's snout, would level away if he lay on them industriously.
Even at that distance he could see the blue fumes from Profond's cigar wreathe out in the quiet sunlight; and his grey buckskin shoes, and his grey hat the fellow was a dandy! And he could see the quick turn of his wife's head, so very straight on her desirable neck and shoulders.
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