She had a box of safety-matches
in her hand, and she now struck one, and applied it to a gas-burner. The
day was dark.
"Pleased to see you," she added, with an attempt at a hearty and
untutored air. "Jessie, shut up."
Jessie, the dog, of the toy species, and arched into the shape of a note
of interrogation, obeyed, lay down and trembled into sleep. The gaslight
revealed the details of the sordid room, a satin box of sweetmeats on the
table, a penny bunch of sweet violets in a specimen-glass, one or two
yellow-backed novels, and a few photographs ranged upon the imitation
marble mantelpiece. There was one arm-chair, whose torn lining indecently
revealed the interior stuffing, and there were three other chairs with
wooden backs. The lady of the feathers did not dwell in marble halls,
unless, perhaps, imaginatively.
"You've got cosey quarters," Julian said, amiably lying.
"Yes, they're not bad, but they do cost money. Sit down, won't you!"
The lady shoved the one arm-chair forward, and after a polite skirmish,
Julian was forced to take it. He sat down, disguising from his companion
his sudden knowledge that the springs were broken. She, on her part, laid
hold of Jessie, dumped the little creature into her lap, and assumed an
air of abrupt gentility, pursing her painted lips, and shooting sidelong
glances of inquiry at the furniture.
Pages:
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238