Not that one would
insult old Lady Barborough by calling her clean. How often d'you think,
Hilda," he called out to his wife, "her ladyship takes a bath?"
"I should hardly like to say, Hugh," Mrs. Elliot tittered, "but wearing
puce velvet, as she does even on the hottest August day, it somehow
doesn't show."
"Pepper, you have me," said Mr. Elliot. "My chess is even worse than I
remembered." He accepted his defeat with great equanimity, because he
really wished to talk.
He drew his chair beside Mr. Wilfrid Flushing, the newcomer.
"Are these at all in your line?" he asked, pointing at a case in front
of them, where highly polished crosses, jewels, and bits of embroidery,
the work of the natives, were displayed to tempt visitors.
"Shams, all of them," said Mr. Flushing briefly. "This rug, now, isn't
at all bad." He stopped and picked up a piece of the rug at their feet.
"Not old, of course, but the design is quite in the right tradition.
Alice, lend me your brooch. See the difference between the old work and
the new."
A lady, who was reading with great concentration, unfastened her brooch
and gave it to her husband without looking at him or acknowledging the
tentative bow which Mr. Elliot was desirous of giving her. If she
had listened, she might have been amused by the reference to old Lady
Barborough, her great-aunt, but, oblivious of her surroundings, she went
on reading.
Pages:
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260