I won't be long."
She opened the folding doors and passed into the inner room,
accompanied by Jessie. Julian waited for her. He found himself
listening to her movements in the other room, to the creak of wood,
as she pulled out drawers, to the rustle of a dress lifted from a
hook, the ripple of water poured from a jug into a basin. He heard the
whole tragedy of preparation, as this girl armed herself for the piteous
battle of the London streets. And then his ears caught the eager patter
of Jessie to and fro, and a murmured expostulation from her mistress.
Evidently the little dog had got hold of some article of attire and was
worrying it. There was a hidden chase and a hidden capture. Jessie was
scolded and kissed. Then the sitting-room slowly filled with the scent
of cherry-blossom. A toothbrush in action was distinctly audible. This
tragedy had its comic relief, like almost all tragedies. Julian sighed
and smiled, but his heart was heavy with the desolate and sordid wonder
of life, as his mind heard--all over London--a thousand echoes of the
bedchamber music of the lady of the feathers.
The folding doors opened wide and she appeared, freshly painted and
powdered, crowned once again with the forest of ostrich tips, and holding
the struggling Jessie in her arms.
Pages:
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249