The Hypocrite - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Sturtevant had grown two small whiskers, and his keen eyes, shaded by bushy brows, made the d.u.c.h.ess want to say "B-r-r-r-r-r!" several times during the evening.
The Baroness Facinorious, an ample and various lady, was taken down by Mr. Sanderson, the education person from Hackney, and they discussed the latest thing in Chelsea churches.
Bradley Bere told Miss Chitters that poetry was the pursuit of the unattainable by the unbearable, hoping she would repeat it as having come from him.
Mr. Justice Coll alone was silent, his whole mind, no large part of him, being given up to the business in hand.
When the gentlemen came up to the drawing-room Sturtevant sat down by Mrs. Burness, and they discussed their host and hostess, both of them telling Mrs. Chitters what the other had said later on in the evening.
When they got tired of scandal Mrs. Burness mentioned that her son had just gone up to Oxford. "To Exeter, you know. Robert says it's an excellent college. We went up for the 'Torgids,' I think they call them--boatin' races, you know--and we had lunch in Bernard's rooms.
_Such_ nice rooms, all panelled in oak, and only next door to the Hall, which must be _so_ convenient in wet weather, don't you think?"
"Have they a high-barred window in the corner looking out into B. N. C.
Lane?" said Sturtevant.
"Yes! do you know them?"
"I think so. I believe I used to know a man who had them years ago. He's dead now."
"Oh, _how_ romantic! I must tell Bernard! Perhaps his ghost haunts them! _Do_ tell me his name."
"A rather uncommon name--Yardly Gobion."
Mrs. Burness grew pale.
"I knew him when I was a girl," she said faintly.
The man gripped a little ornamental k.n.o.b on the arm of the chair. The people who were coming after the dinner were being announced. He heard Sir Lionel and Lady Picton's names shouted from the door. It was a curious evening.
"Were you a Miss Lovering before you married?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then you're Marjorie!"
"Yes," she said with a little smile, "I was Marjorie."
They were silent for a time, and their faces changed a little.
"Rather a fool, wasn't he?" Sturtevant forced himself to say at last.
"Oh, yes, we flirted a little, don't you know, but I always thought him rather poor fun."
"Yes, he wasn't much. I remember when I was reading for the Bar I did him a service, for which he was not in the least grateful."
"Yes, he was quite that sort of person."
"But still," said Sturtevant, "he was a man possessed of considerable personal charm."
FINISH.
