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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Did you want Mrs. Shiffney to come so particularly?" Claude asked, not without surprise. "Yes, I did. Not for myself, of course. I don't pretend to be fond of her, though I don't dislike her! But she ought to have come after accepting. People thought she was coming to-night. I wonder why she rushed off to Paris like that?" "I should think it was probably something to do with the Senniers.
For a moment, in some mysterious process of the mind, Claude mingled his companion with the dream and the longing, transfigured, standing for women rather than a woman. During that moment Mrs. Shiffney watched him, and London desires connected with him returned to her, were very strong within her. She had come to him as a spy from an enemy's camp. She had fulfilled her mission.
Can't you persuade him to come back and see us? Do be a dear and telegraph." She spoke in her most airy way. "I would in a minute. But he's not gone merely to amuse himself." "The opera!" said Mrs. Shiffney. "By the way, is it indiscreet to ask who wrote the libretto?" Again Charmian hesitated, and again overcame her hesitation. "It is by a Frenchman, or rather an Algerian, French but born here.
"Charmian has been asked." "Mrs. Shiffney said she had accepted the invitation." "Yes." "And now I'm to give my answer on Sunday." "You seem quite upset about it," she said, without sarcasm. "Of course it seems a small matter. People would laugh at me, I know, for worrying. But what I feel is that if I go with Mrs.
Her painted lips stretched themselves in a faint and enigmatic smile. "I'm quite sure Charmian Heath will be here. This is to be the great night of her life. She is not the woman to miss it." Mrs. Shiffney leaned round to the next box. "Susan, can you see the Heaths?" "Yes," returned the theosophist, in her calm chest voice. "She is just coming into a box on the same tier as we are in." "Where?
"It was good of you to ask me, when you didn't want to." She leaned a little toward him, with one light hand palm downward on the cushion of the sofa, and her small, rather square chin thrust forward in a way that made her look suddenly intense. "I'll try not to be like Mrs. Shiffney. I'll try not to make him feel transparent." "I'm not sure that you could," he said, smiling at her.
She and Adelaide Shiffney had been frank with each other in the matter, and she had no intention of making any mistake because she was angry. "We haven't much time to spare. Jacques has to get on with his new opera." Gillier sat down on a chair with a certain cold and reluctant but definite politeness. His look and manner said: "I cannot, of course, leave this lady whom I hate."
He kept secret assignations, which were not openly supposed to be secret by either Mrs. Shiffney or himself. For Mrs. Shiffney was leading him gently, savoring nuances, while he was feeling blatant, though saved by his breeding from showing it. They had some charming, some almost exciting talks, full of innuendo, of veiled allusions to personal feeling and the human depths.
There was something ready to rush out to satisfy expectation. She was deeply interested in Heath. About ten days after the "spree" at the Monico she received a telegram from Marseilles "Starting to-night, home the day after to-morrow; love. Heath dropped in that day, and Mrs. Mansfield mentioned the telegram. "Charmian will be back on Thursday. I told you Adelaide Shiffney would be in a hurry."
"I care rather for boxing. Now" she went slowly toward the chair, followed by Heath, "what I want to know, and what you can tell me, is this" she sat down, and leaned her chin on her upturned palm "on present form do you believe the Nutcracker is up to Conky Ja-ky Joe?" As Claude Heath sat down to reply to this question, Mrs. Shiffney said: "Conky Jarky Joe!
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