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Updated: June 27, 2025
An immense oil painting of a heap of dead pheasants, rabbits and wild duck, lying beside a gun and a pair of leather gaiters, immediately faced the hall door, which was opened by two enormous men with yellow complexions and dissipated eyes. Mrs. Wolfstein was at home, and one of the enormous men lethargically showed Lady Holme upstairs into a drawing-room which suggested a Gordon Hotel.
"I should prefer to invite her myself," said Lady Holme, with a distinct touch of hauteur which made Mrs. Wolfstein smile maliciously. When Lady Holme was alone she realised that she had, half unconsciously, meant that Miss Schley should find that there was at any rate one house in London whose door did not at once fly open to welcome her demure presence. But now?
Lady Holme began to realise why she could never like Mrs. Wolfstein. The latter would try to manage other people's affairs. "I had no idea she would care about it," she answered, rather coldly. "My dear an American! And your house! You're absurdly modest. She's simply pining to come. May I tell her to?"
And this absence of jewels, and her black gown, made her skin look almost startlingly white, if possible whiter than Lady Holme's. She smiled quietly as she mounted the stairs, as if she were wrapt in a pleasant, innocent dream which no one knew anything about. Amalia Wolfstein was certainly a splendid a too splendid foil to her.
Wolfstein, ever on the look-out for means of improving her already satisfactory position in the London world, saw one in the vestal virgin and resolved to launch her in England. She was delighted with the result. Miss Schley had already added several very desirable people to the Wolfstein visiting-list. In return "Henry" had "put her on to" one or two very good things in the City.
Wolfstein, with her strongest accent, while Miss Schley put out a limp hand to meet Lady Holme's and very slightly accentuated her smile. "Your mother? I shall be delighted to meet her. I hope you'll bring her one day," said Lady Holme; thinking more emphatically than ever that for a woman with a complexion as perfect as hers it was a mistake to wear many jewels.
"I like a good shipwreck," exclaimed Miss Burns in a loud tenor voice. "I was in two before I was thirty, one off Hayti and one off Java, and I enjoyed them both thoroughly. They wake folks up and make them show their mettle." "It's always dangerous to speak figuratively if she's anywhere about," murmured Mrs. Wolfstein to Lady Holme.
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