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Updated: May 24, 2025
I declare it on the house-tops. That delightful girl " "I'm not talking of any delightful girl but you!" he broke in with a voice that, as he afterwards learned, struck Mrs. Rooth's ears in the garden with affright. "I simply hold you, under pain of being convicted of the grossest prevarication, to the strict sense of what you said ten minutes ago." "Ah I've said so many things!
At last he said, after an hesitation caused by the possibility that she was ignorant of the fact he had lately elicited from Julia, though it was more probable she might have learned it from the same source: "Am I perhaps indiscreet in alluding to the circumstance that Nick has been painting Miss Rooth's portrait?" "You're not indiscreet in alluding to it to me, because I know it."
Nick assented to the proposition, only inserting an amendment to the effect that surely Peter had nice cousins too, and making, as he went on with his work, a tacit, preoccupied reflexion or two; such as that it must be pleasant to render little services like that to youth, beauty and genius he rather wondered how Peter could afford them and that, "duck" as he was, Miss Rooth's benefactor was rather taken for granted.
Rooth's shrunken standard. "We would ask you to come up, but it's quite at the top and we haven't a sitting-room," the poor lady bravely explained. "We had to receive Mr. Nash at a café." Nick Dormer declared that he liked cafés, and Miriam, looking at his cousin, dropped with a flash of passion the demand: "Do you wonder I should want to do something so that we can stop living like pigs?"
"I like the way she talks," Mr. Dashwood derisively said, "when I gave up the most brilliant prospects, of very much the same kind as Mr. Dormer's, expressly to go on the stage." "You're an inferior creature too," Miriam promptly pronounced. "Miss Rooth's very hard to satisfy," Peter observed at this.
He continued to object to the girl's English, with its foreign patches that might pass in prose but were offensive in the recitation of verse, and he wanted to know why she couldn't speak like her mother. He had justly to acknowledge the charm of Mrs. Rooth's voice and tone, which gave a richness even to the foolish things she said.
She didn't literally hang by her heels from a trapeze and hold a fat man in her teeth, but she made the same use of her tongue, of her eyes, of the imitative trick, that her muscular sister made of leg and jaw. It was an odd circumstance that Miss Rooth's face seemed to him to-day a finer instrument than old Madame Carré's.
Miss Rooth, moreover, wanted a new part; she was above all impatient to show her big range. She had grand ideas; she thought herself very good-natured to repeat the same stuff for three months. The young man lighted another cigarette and described to his listener some of Miss Rooth's ideas.
In foreign countries there were very few ladies of Miss Rooth's intended profession who would not have regarded it as too strong an order that, to console them for not being admitted into drawing-rooms, they should have no offset but the exercise of a virtue in which no one would believe.
"Why my coming back in a year to square you." "Ah you're a bore!" she let him have it at last. "Come back when you like. I don't wonder you've grown desperate, but fancy me then!" she added as she looked past him at a new interlocutor. "Yes, but if he'll square you!" Peter heard Mrs. Rooth's voice respond all persuasively behind him.
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