the telephone. It is seldom that I receive a telephone call nowadays.
I spoke briefly with Jane who seemed in somewhat low spirits. The poor girl is often bored, though she is gay by nature and indeed it was her gaiety that I wooed in our halcyon days. I suggested to her that we might do worse than go for a short stroll in the park but the weather being inclement she preferred not to leave the house. She inquired why I had not gone to the library – I usually spend the day at the Library of Historical Studies in Kensington Road, taking with me some cheese sandwiches and working there until late – and I explained to her that since I had a business appointment later on in the afternoon, I intended to devote my free time today to collating my preliminary notes for my book.
Marie had a visitor not long afterwards, an uncle who had lived in England for many years (I forgot to mention that Marie was French – Parisian, I believe). He seemed to cheer Jane up considerably, for which I was grateful, and I suggested that the four of us might play a game I know in which two people act out a proverb or the title of a book, etc., theobject being that the two onlookers have to guess what it is. Marie’s uncle seemed quite intrigued by the idea but the two girls shortly took him upstairs to show him round the house.
Meanwhile I retired to my desk to work on my book, ‘The History of the World.’ Today I toyed with one or two openings but at once felt uneasy about committing myself to the narrative before I was in full possession of all the elements that will go into it. When the time comes perhaps Jane will help me with the typing. It will be quite pleasant I feel.
I worked for an hour or so and became quite engrossed, and then, since Jane and Marie and Marie’s uncle seemed to have gone out, lunched alone on a cup of tea and some cheese sandwiches. I decided to go out for a stroll myself, thinking that I might perhaps meet Jane and the others in the Park, though I did not in fact do so, and when I returned home I found that they too had returned in my absence and that Marie’s uncle had left.
My appointment was with the Earl of Malquist, a new acquaintance whom I had met a week before under the following circumstances:
It is my practice, unless the weather is exceptionally wet, to walk to the library in the mornings, taking one of the paths that cross the Park along the wide end of the Serpentine and join Rotten Row. I walk along the Row westwards and on past the Albert Memorial, along the Flower Walk where, even in winter, the shrubbery is very attractive. In the evenings I take a bus back round Hyde Park Corner, but on Saturdays the library closes earlier so I sometimes prefer to retrace my steps of the morning, strolling home through the park in the last light of the day.
Last Saturday evening I was thus engaged when, entering the Park on my way home, I happened to glance to my left and saw a horse and rider approaching me. Loping along beside the horse was a large animal which I took to be a kind of yellow dog. They made such a striking spectacle that Ipaused to watch them go by, and saw that the rider was an extremely handsome gentleman of some forty years, most dramatically dressed in a black cape lined with silk of the palest blue that matched his cravat, together with a rakishly brimmed topper, a white-frilled shirt-front and very shiny black riding boots. His horse gleamed like coal.
I was so struck by the effect that he was almost opposite me before I noticed that he rode with his right fist gauntleted to hold a hawk, which he released as I watched. The bird climbed steeply and then dropped with remarkable speed towards the lake, and there was a sharp cry in the reeds as it flattened out and winged back with some kind of water-bird held in its talons. The hawk returned to the rider and let him take the dead bird. To my surprise he tossed it to his dog, or rather (as I now realised) to the lion-like animal that had
I spoke briefly with Jane who seemed in somewhat low spirits. The poor girl is often bored, though she is gay by nature and indeed it was her gaiety that I wooed in our halcyon days. I suggested to her that we might do worse than go for a short stroll in the park but the weather being inclement she preferred not to leave the house. She inquired why I had not gone to the library – I usually spend the day at the Library of Historical Studies in Kensington Road, taking with me some cheese sandwiches and working there until late – and I explained to her that since I had a business appointment later on in the afternoon, I intended to devote my free time today to collating my preliminary notes for my book.
Marie had a visitor not long afterwards, an uncle who had lived in England for many years (I forgot to mention that Marie was French – Parisian, I believe). He seemed to cheer Jane up considerably, for which I was grateful, and I suggested that the four of us might play a game I know in which two people act out a proverb or the title of a book, etc., theobject being that the two onlookers have to guess what it is. Marie’s uncle seemed quite intrigued by the idea but the two girls shortly took him upstairs to show him round the house.
Meanwhile I retired to my desk to work on my book, ‘The History of the World.’ Today I toyed with one or two openings but at once felt uneasy about committing myself to the narrative before I was in full possession of all the elements that will go into it. When the time comes perhaps Jane will help me with the typing. It will be quite pleasant I feel.
I worked for an hour or so and became quite engrossed, and then, since Jane and Marie and Marie’s uncle seemed to have gone out, lunched alone on a cup of tea and some cheese sandwiches. I decided to go out for a stroll myself, thinking that I might perhaps meet Jane and the others in the Park, though I did not in fact do so, and when I returned home I found that they too had returned in my absence and that Marie’s uncle had left.
My appointment was with the Earl of Malquist, a new acquaintance whom I had met a week before under the following circumstances:
It is my practice, unless the weather is exceptionally wet, to walk to the library in the mornings, taking one of the paths that cross the Park along the wide end of the Serpentine and join Rotten Row. I walk along the Row westwards and on past the Albert Memorial, along the Flower Walk where, even in winter, the shrubbery is very attractive. In the evenings I take a bus back round Hyde Park Corner, but on Saturdays the library closes earlier so I sometimes prefer to retrace my steps of the morning, strolling home through the park in the last light of the day.
Last Saturday evening I was thus engaged when, entering the Park on my way home, I happened to glance to my left and saw a horse and rider approaching me. Loping along beside the horse was a large animal which I took to be a kind of yellow dog. They made such a striking spectacle that Ipaused to watch them go by, and saw that the rider was an extremely handsome gentleman of some forty years, most dramatically dressed in a black cape lined with silk of the palest blue that matched his cravat, together with a rakishly brimmed topper, a white-frilled shirt-front and very shiny black riding boots. His horse gleamed like coal.
I was so struck by the effect that he was almost opposite me before I noticed that he rode with his right fist gauntleted to hold a hawk, which he released as I watched. The bird climbed steeply and then dropped with remarkable speed towards the lake, and there was a sharp cry in the reeds as it flattened out and winged back with some kind of water-bird held in its talons. The hawk returned to the rider and let him take the dead bird. To my surprise he tossed it to his dog, or rather (as I now realised) to the lion-like animal that had
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