"Rather an unexpected attitude for you."
"I love people who do unexpected things. Didn't you always adore the manwho slew a lion in a pit on a snowy day? But about this unfortunateinnocence. Well, quite long ago, when I'd been quarrelling with morepeople than usual, you among the number--it must have been in November, Inever quarrel with you too near Christmas--I had an idea that I'd like towrite a book. It was to be a book of personal reminiscences, and was toleave out nothing."
"Reginald!"
"Exactly what the Duchess said when I mentioned it to her. I wasprovoking and said nothing, and the next thing, of course, was thateveryone heard that I'd written the book and got it in the press. Afterthat, I might have been a gold-fish in a glass bowl for all the privacy Igot. People attacked me about it in the most unexpected places, andimplored or commanded me to leave out things that I'd forgotten had everhappened. I sat behind Miriam Klopstock one night in the dress circle atHis Majesty's, and she began at once about the incident of the Chow dogin the bathroom, which she insisted must be struck out. We had to argueit in a disjointed fashion, because some of the people wanted to listento the play, and Miriam takes nines in voices. They had to stop herplaying in the 'Macaws' Hockey Club because you could hear what shethought when her shins got mixed up in a scrimmage for half a mile on astill day. They are called the Macaws because of their blue-and-yellowcostumes, but I understand there was nothing yellow about Miriam'slanguage. I agreed to make one alteration, as I pretended I had got it aSpitz instead of a Chow, but beyond that I was firm. She megaphoned backtwo minutes later, 'You promised you would never mention it; don't youever keep a promise?' When people had stopped glaring in our direction,I replied that I'd as soon think of keeping white mice. I saw hertearing little bits out of her programme for a minute or two, and thenshe leaned back and snorted, 'You're not the boy I took you for,' asthough she were an eagle arriving at Olympus with the wrong Ganymede.That was her last audible remark, but she went on tearing up herprogramme and scattering the pieces around her, till one of herneighbours asked with immense dignity whether she should send for awastepaper basket. I didn't stay for the last act."
"Then there is Mrs.--oh, I never can remember her name; she lives in astreet that the cabmen have never heard of, and is at home on Wednesdays.She frightened me horribly once at a private view by saying mysteriously,'I oughtn't to be here, you know; this is one of my days.' I thought shemeant that she was subject to periodical outbreaks and was expecting anattack at any moment. So embarrassing if she had suddenly taken it intoher head that she was Cesar Borgia or St. Elizabeth of Hungary. Thatsort of thing would make one unpleasantly conspicuous even at a privateview. However, she merely meant to say that it was Wednesday, which atthe moment was incontrovertible. Well, she's on quite a different tackto the Klopstock. She doesn't visit anywhere very extensively, and, ofcourse, she's awfully keen for me to drag in an incident that occurred atone of the Beauwhistle garden-parties, when she says she accidentally hitthe shins of a Serene Somebody or other with a croquet mallet and that heswore at her in German. As a matter of fact, he went on discoursing onthe Gordon-Bennett affair in French. (I never can remember if it's a newsubmarine or a divorce. Of course, how stupid of me!) To bedisagreeably exact, I fancy she missed him by about twoinches--over-anxiousness, probably--but she likes to think she hit him.I've felt that way with a partridge which I always imagine keeps onflying strong, out of false pride, till it's the other side of the hedge.She said she could tell me everything she was wearing on the occasion. Isaid I didn't want my book to read like a laundry list, but she explainedthat she didn't mean those sort of things."
"And there's the Chilworth boy, who can be charming as long as he'scontent to be stupid and wear what he's told to; but he gets the idea nowand then that he'd like to be epigrammatic, and the result is likewatching a rook trying to build a nest in a gale. Since he got wind ofthe book, he's been persecuting me to work in something of his about theRussians and the Yalu Peril, and is quite sulky because I won't do it."
"Altogether, I think it would be rather a brilliant inspiration if youwere to suggest a fortnight in Paris."
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends