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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.
These last words caused the eyes of Peter Sherringham's companions to meet again, and he went on: "She'll go straight down to Harsh." "Wonderful Julia!" Lady Agnes panted. "Of course Nick must go straight there too." "Well, I suppose he must see first if they'll have him." "If they'll have him? Why how can he tell till he tries?" "I mean the people at headquarters, the fellows who arrange it."
He remembered her loudness, her violence in Paris, at Peter Sherringham's, her wild wails, the first time, at Madame Carré's; compared with which her present manner was eminently temperate and modern.
After Peter Sherringham's heartless flight she had wantonly slighted an excellent opportunity to repair her misfortune. Lady Agnes had reason to infer, about the end of June, that young Mr. Grindon, the only son the other children being girls of an immensely rich industrial and political baronet in the north, was literally waiting for the faintest sign.
It must be added that before Miriam arrived the breeze that filled Sherringham's sail began to sink a little. He passed out of the eminently "let" drawing-room, where twenty large photographs of the young actress bloomed in the desert; he went into the garden by a glass door that stood open, and found Mr. Dashwood lolling on a bench and smoking cigarettes.
Rooth, with her shawl fluttering about her, nestled against her daughter, putting out her hand to take one of Miriam's soothingly. She had pretty, silly, near-sighted eyes, a long thin nose, and an upper lip which projected over the under as an ornamental cornice rests on its support. "So much depends really everything!" she said in answer to some sociable observation of Sherringham's.
It had made her, fortunately, very pretty still prettier than usual: it sometimes happened that at moments when Grace was most angry she had a faint sweet smile which might have been drawn from some source of occult consolation. It was perhaps in some degree connected with Peter Sherringham's visit, as to which the girl had not been superstitiously silent.
"Spite surely isn't a conceivable motive for a healthy man." The plea, however, found Gabriel ready. "Sherringham's just precisely not a healthy man. He's too much in love." "Then he won't care for another woman." "He would try to, and that would produce its effect its effect on Miriam." "You talk like an American novel. Let him try, and God keep us all straight."
It is surely not in Nick's consciousness since why, if it be, are we treated to such an intolerable dose of Sherringham's? It can't be in Sherringham's we have for that altogether an excess of Nick's.
He was not sorry to be relieved of the office by Nick, and he even tacitly and ironically wished his kinsman's friend joy of a colloquy with Mrs. Dallow. Sherringham's life was spent with people, he was used to people, and both as host and as guest he carried the social burden in general lightly.
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