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Updated: May 31, 2025
Rooth; while Miriam, who had on occasion the candour of a fine acquisitiveness, wished to know what particular reason there might be for his not letting them have the picture he was now beginning. "Why I've promised it to Peter Sherringham he has offered me money for it," Nick replied. "However, he's welcome to it for nothing, poor chap, and I shall be delighted to do the best I can for him."
On one point Sherringham's mind might be at rest: Miss Rooth was a woman who would do every blessed thing there was to do. Give her time and she would walk straight through the repertory. She was a woman who would do this she was a woman who would do that: her spokesman employed this phrase so often that Peter, nervous, got up and threw an unsmoked cigarette away.
Rooth crept about like a friendly but undomesticated cat after they entered the foyer itself, a square, spacious saloon covered with pictures and relics and draped in official green velvet, where the genius loci holds a reception every night in the year.
He remembered what Mr. Nash had said about this blighted maiden, and perceived that though she might be inept she was now anything but presumptuous. Gabriel fell to talking with Nick Dormer while Peter addressed himself to Mrs. Rooth. There was no use as yet for any direct word to the girl, who was too scared even to hear. Mrs.
He intimated that in his opinion these pleasures were all for the performers. The auditors had at any rate given Miss Rooth a charming afternoon; that of course was what Mrs. Dallow's kind brother had mainly intended in arranging the little party.
Miriam Rooth was sublime; yet it may be confided to the reader that during these supreme scenes Bridget Dormer directed her eyes less to the inspired actress than to a figure in the stalls who sat with his own gaze fastened to the stage.
"It depends on what that is," he darkly smiled. "What I should wish if she were my daughter," the old woman rejoined blandly. "Ah wish your daughter to act as well as that and you'll do the handsome thing for her!" "Well, she seems to feel what she says," Mrs. Rooth piously risked. "She has some stiff things to say. I mean about her past," Basil Dashwood remarked.
Biddy ventured to observe that she herself had studied modelling a little and that she could understand how any artist would think Miss Rooth a splendid subject. If indeed she could attempt her head, that would be a chance indeed. "Thank you," said Miriam with a laugh as of high comedy. "I think I had rather not passer par toute la famille!"
"I'm glad I haven't lost you, but why didn't you stay to give her a hand?" "Give her a hand? I hated it." "My dear man, I don't follow you," Nick said. "If you won't come to Dashwood's supper I fear our ways don't lie together." "Thank him very much; say I've to get up at an unnatural hour." To this Peter added: "I think I ought to tell you she may not be there." "Miss Rooth?
The dear creatures were three in number, for a gentleman had added himself to Mrs. Rooth and her daughter. As soon as Miriam's eyes took in her Parisian friend she fell into a large, droll, theatrical attitude and, seizing her mother's arm, exclaimed passionately: "Look where he sits, the author of all my woes cold, cynical, cruel!" She was evidently in the highest spirits; of which Mrs.
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