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Updated: July 5, 2025
Rush-Marvelle, as being a nonentity of a man whom he could safely patronize. As the glory of the sunset paled, and the delicate, warm hues of the summer twilight softened the landscape, the merriment of the brilliant assembly seemed to increase.
Rush-Marvelle and the Van Clupps are listening to the conversation with straining ears. What strange person is this? She does not talk bad grammar, though her manner of expressing herself is somewhat quaint and foreign. But she is babyish perfectly babyish! The idea of any well-bred woman condescending to sing the praises of her own husband in public! Absurd!
Is Mr. Rush-Marvelle here? Oh yes after some little trouble we discover him, squeezed against the wall and barricaded by the grand piano, in company with a large album, over which he pores, feigning an almost morbid interest in the portraits of persons he has never seen, and never will see.
Now I'll say good night, for it is getting late, I'll write to you to-morrow and fix a day for you to come and lunch with me." "But you must also come and see Philip," returned Thelma, pressing her hand. "So I will so I will!" and Mrs. Rush-Marvelle nodded beamingly, and made her way up to Lady Winsleigh, saying, "Bye-bye, Clara! Thanks for a most charming evening!" Clara pouted.
And with a courteous salute, the grave, kindly-faced nobleman re-entered his library, his young son clinging to his arm and pouring forth boyish confidences, which seemingly received instant attention and sympathy, while Mrs. Rush-Marvelle looked after their retreating figures with something of doubt and wonder on her placid features.
Mrs. Rush-Marvelle, Mrs. Van Clupp and Marcia make their way slowly through the gabbling, pushing, smirking crowd till they form a part of the little coterie immediately round Lady Winsleigh, to whom, at the first opportunity, Mrs. Marvelle whispers "Have they come?" "The modern Paris and the new Helen?" laughs Lady Clara, with a shrug of her snowy shoulders. "No, not yet.
"Whom does she care for then?" asked Thelma suddenly. "Of course I mean after her husband. Naturally she loves him best." "Naturally," and Philip paused, adding, "she has her son Ernest he's a fine bright boy he was not there to-night. You must see him some day. Then I think her favorite friend is Mrs. Rush-Marvelle." "I do like that lady too," said Thelma.
By-and-by he escorted her into the house, where the dancing was in full swing and she, with a sweet smile, bidding him wait for her in the refreshment-room, sought for and found her mother, who as usual, was seated in a quiet corner with Mrs. Rush-Marvelle, talking scandal. "Well?" exclaimed these two ladies, simultaneously and breathlessly. Marcia's eyes twinkled.
He will be laughed at wherever he goes!" Mr. Rush-Marvelle scratched his bony chin perplexedly. "It makes it a little awkward for for you," he remarked feelingly. "Awkward! It is abominable!" And Mrs. Marvelle rose from her chair, and shook out the voluminous train of her silken breakfast-gown, an elaborate combination of crimson with grey chinchilla fur.
Rush-Marvelle had her hands full of other matters, she was aiding and abetting Marcia Van Clupp to set traps for that mild mouse Lord Masherville, and she was too much absorbed in this difficult and delicate business to attend to anything else just then.
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