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Updated: June 15, 2025
When he had read this brief note Craven was struck, as he had been struck when he had read Lady Sellingworth's letter to him, by a certain finality in the wording. Good-bye a last little talk! Miss Van Tuyn might have put "au revoir," might have omitted the word "last." He looked at the clock. It was not very late only half-past five. He decided to go at once to the hotel. And he went.
No; but owing to the great difference in their ages he felt that he could talk to her as he could talk to nobody else. For he was in no intimate relation with any other woman so much older than himself. And to young women somehow one can never talk so freely, so companionably. Even in these modern days sex gets in the way. Craven told himself that as he folded up Lady Sellingworth's letter.
A lover surely could not feel like that. A lover just loved, and there was an end of it. He could not understand his own feelings. But when he thought of Beryl Van Tuyn he felt full of the fighting instinct, and ready to take the initiative. He would never fight to retain Lady Sellingworth's friendship, but he would fight to assert himself with the beautiful American.
She has called and is in the hall. She begs you to see her for a moment." Two spots of red appeared in Lady Sellingworth's white cheeks. For a moment she hesitated. A feeling almost of horror had come to her, a longing for instant flight. She had not expected this. She did not know what exactly she had expected, but it had certainly not been this. "Did you say I was in?" she said, at last.
From this very Park you look up at the stars, when there are any, and you ask yourselves " At this point in the discourse Craven turned away, feeling that edification was scarcely to be found by him here. Certainly at this moment he was dissatisfied with life. But that was Lady Sellingworth's fault.
She was generally supposed to be one of those unfortunately cynical millionairesses who are unable to believe in man's disinterested affection. "Shall we go?" said Lady Sellingworth. Miss Briggs assented, and they left the restaurant. They spent the afternoon together at a matinee at the Opera Comique, and afterwards Miss Briggs came to tea at Lady Sellingworth's apartment.
I am dining to-night rather early with oh, by the way, it is with one of your chiefs Eric Learington. A good fellow a good fellow! We are going to some music afterwards at Queen's Hall. Good-bye. I'm very glad you realize Adela Sellingworth's great distinction and charm.
"I see! A fascinating subject like that must be difficult to get away from." "Yes very! What a delightful woman Mrs. Hodson is." "I think her extremely wearisome. Her nature is as wrinkled as her face. And now I must be on my way to Adela Sellingworth's." "May I walk with you as far as her door?" "Of course." When they were out in Piccadilly he said: "And now what about my promise to Mr. Craven?"
Caroline Briggs would believe that the change which was at hand, the change which would be discussed, perhaps laughed at, praised by some, condemned by others, had been brought about by the conversation in the Persian Room. She would never know the truth. No one of Lady Sellingworth's set would ever know it.
"Musiciens d'aujourd'hui," by Romain Rolland. Craven thought he was disappointed. There was no revelation for him in that. He held the book on his knee, and wondered what he had expected to find, what type of book. What special line of reading was Lady Sellingworth's likely to be?
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