marvellous-looking man I’ve ever seen, she thought, peeling off her wet clothes in the big chilly bedroom, and he does remind me of someone, now who is it? (oh dear, we’re going to be so late, I do hope it won’t be very awful, how I hate living here).
She ran downstairs buttoning her frock, and as she turned the handle of the drawing-room door, whence came the dirge-like soughing of voices, she remembered who it was he reminded her of. The young man they always draw to advertise Llama-Pyjamas, of course, that’s who it is!
Quite pleased, she went in.
CHAPTER VI
‘Now what did you want to do that for, Het?’ interestedly inquired Victor, as the car rushed gladly away from The Eagles. ‘You are an extraordinary woman.’
‘Well, poor creatures, they were getting wet.’
When Hetty talked to her social equals she was careful to keep her speech free from slang, for she enjoyed the touch of pedantry thus given to her sentences, and the contrast between her diction and that of the Springs’ friends, especially Miss Barlow’s. But when Hetty talked to Heyrick or to little Merionethshire she talked in an ordinary way: she did not want the servants to think her stuck-up, as well as queer.
‘We shall not be late for tea,’ she added mildly.
Her cousin accelerated, saying nothing more. She had asked him to pull up when she caught sight of the two Miss Who-ever-they-weres sheltering under the trees, and he had done so, partly because of his slight but steady curiosity about all her actions, and partly from a less good-natured reason.
He always liked to see what old Het-Up would do next. All the people round him behaved, as he did, in an ordinary manner; and he took it for granted that sensible people everywhere behaved like this. But Hetty often behaved oddly and she was interesting to watch; it was like having a mongrel dog about the house, without breeding but with plenty of character. Sometimes her oddities annoyed him but usually he was only amused, for he was fond of old Het-Up, who took herself so seriously; they had, after all, grown up together and she took the place of a sister.
Miss Barlow said nothing, either. She was irritated. She knew why Victor had stopped the car; it was because she had exclaimed impatiently, ‘Oh, do let’s get on, Victor, I’ve hung about enough for one afternoon.’ He had wanted to show her that her wishes, her impatience, had no power over him and that he was not sorry for having kept her waiting three and a half minutes at the station.
It appeared that he had stopped at a shop in the town because Hetty wanted to fetch a book she had ordered. He had told Hetty that she could stay in the bookshop for ten minutes, but Hetty had stayed twelve, and that had made them late.
Twice, in half an hour, Hetty had held up Miss Barlow’s plans, and prevented her from moving as quickly as possible on to the next pleasure. Miss Barlow liked her life to be a steady movement towards pleasure. While she was having one, she was thinking about the next and what she should wear while she had that.
What a little beast she is, thought the elder girl coldly, looking at the bun of hair sticking out untidily under Hetty’s hat. Thoroughly selfish, unattractive, and spoilt. I think, as soon as Victor and I are married, a good long cruise would be the best thing for Miss Hetty, since she’s so fond of travel books. She might pick up a husband that way – though I doubt it, she’s so affected. There’s nothing men hate so much as affectation.
Miss Barlow’s own success with men (eight full-blown offers of heart, hand and fortune in five years, and numberless hints at undying devotion repressed by loyalty to marriage vows or lack of money; storesful of flowers, sweets, jewellery and minor articles of clothing, to say nothing about a ceaseless stream of invitations to dances, races, and shows) was due, she thought, chiefly to her lack of affectation.
The word had a special meaning for
She ran downstairs buttoning her frock, and as she turned the handle of the drawing-room door, whence came the dirge-like soughing of voices, she remembered who it was he reminded her of. The young man they always draw to advertise Llama-Pyjamas, of course, that’s who it is!
Quite pleased, she went in.
CHAPTER VI
‘Now what did you want to do that for, Het?’ interestedly inquired Victor, as the car rushed gladly away from The Eagles. ‘You are an extraordinary woman.’
‘Well, poor creatures, they were getting wet.’
When Hetty talked to her social equals she was careful to keep her speech free from slang, for she enjoyed the touch of pedantry thus given to her sentences, and the contrast between her diction and that of the Springs’ friends, especially Miss Barlow’s. But when Hetty talked to Heyrick or to little Merionethshire she talked in an ordinary way: she did not want the servants to think her stuck-up, as well as queer.
‘We shall not be late for tea,’ she added mildly.
Her cousin accelerated, saying nothing more. She had asked him to pull up when she caught sight of the two Miss Who-ever-they-weres sheltering under the trees, and he had done so, partly because of his slight but steady curiosity about all her actions, and partly from a less good-natured reason.
He always liked to see what old Het-Up would do next. All the people round him behaved, as he did, in an ordinary manner; and he took it for granted that sensible people everywhere behaved like this. But Hetty often behaved oddly and she was interesting to watch; it was like having a mongrel dog about the house, without breeding but with plenty of character. Sometimes her oddities annoyed him but usually he was only amused, for he was fond of old Het-Up, who took herself so seriously; they had, after all, grown up together and she took the place of a sister.
Miss Barlow said nothing, either. She was irritated. She knew why Victor had stopped the car; it was because she had exclaimed impatiently, ‘Oh, do let’s get on, Victor, I’ve hung about enough for one afternoon.’ He had wanted to show her that her wishes, her impatience, had no power over him and that he was not sorry for having kept her waiting three and a half minutes at the station.
It appeared that he had stopped at a shop in the town because Hetty wanted to fetch a book she had ordered. He had told Hetty that she could stay in the bookshop for ten minutes, but Hetty had stayed twelve, and that had made them late.
Twice, in half an hour, Hetty had held up Miss Barlow’s plans, and prevented her from moving as quickly as possible on to the next pleasure. Miss Barlow liked her life to be a steady movement towards pleasure. While she was having one, she was thinking about the next and what she should wear while she had that.
What a little beast she is, thought the elder girl coldly, looking at the bun of hair sticking out untidily under Hetty’s hat. Thoroughly selfish, unattractive, and spoilt. I think, as soon as Victor and I are married, a good long cruise would be the best thing for Miss Hetty, since she’s so fond of travel books. She might pick up a husband that way – though I doubt it, she’s so affected. There’s nothing men hate so much as affectation.
Miss Barlow’s own success with men (eight full-blown offers of heart, hand and fortune in five years, and numberless hints at undying devotion repressed by loyalty to marriage vows or lack of money; storesful of flowers, sweets, jewellery and minor articles of clothing, to say nothing about a ceaseless stream of invitations to dances, races, and shows) was due, she thought, chiefly to her lack of affectation.
The word had a special meaning for
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