It was rather fun at Panton's. . . . Oh!--
Weston Massinghay was coming to lunch. He was a useful man to know.
So CLEVER. . . . So long, my dear little Son, till I see you. . . .
So life puts out its Merkle threads, as the poacher puts his hair
noose about the pheasant's neck, and while we theorize takes hold of
us. . . .
It came presently home to Benham that he had been down from
Cambridge for ten months, and that he was still not a step forward
with the realization of the new aristocracy. His political career
waited. He had done a quantity of things, but their net effect was
incoherence. He had not been merely passive, but his efforts to
break away into creative realities had added to rather than
diminished his accumulating sense of futility.
The natural development of his position under the influence of Lady
Marayne had enormously enlarged the circle of his acquaintances. He
had taken part in all sorts of social occasions, and sat and
listened to a representative selection of political and literary and
social personages, he had been several times to the opera and to a
great number and variety of plays, he had been attentively
inconspicuous in several really good week-end parties.
Pages:
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183