Londoners.
What I found more interesting than the art was the onlookers. I gazed in disbelief at the elegant toilettes London ladies wore on a simple afternoon outing. There were bonnets bearing whole gardens of silk flowers, complete with stuffed birds. My new chipped straw paled to insignificance, and my pelisse was the wrong color and material, too. All the ladies were wearing mantles of twisted sarcenet, green to compliment their flower bonnets. Mine was a blue worsted.
I was introduced to a few people. A Lady MacIntyre and her daughter accosted Alger—and gave me, my bonnet, and blue pelisse a closer examination than they gave the artworks.
“Not one of the Season’s better exhibitions,” Lady MacIntyre complained. “One can see why the crowd is so small.”
It seemed like a goodish crowd to me. Looking over the throng, I said, “Do you not think it well attended, Lady MacIntyre? There must be over a hundred people here.”
“Oh, my dear, when you can count the viewers, the thing is a colossal failure.” She laughed. “When Reynolds and even Romney were alive, the crowds were lined up for blocks. This is not even a crowd, let alone a squeeze. Come along, Samantha. We shall go to Hyde Park. There is no one here. Shall we see you at Lady Bonham’s rout this evening, Algie?”
“If time permits, ma’am.”
“You are not accustomed to working for a living, eh? Tell Dolman I was asking for him.”
Lady MacIntyre nudged her butter-toothed daughter forward to make a curtsy, then hauled her away.”
“Now the crowd is down to ninety-eight. A definite flop,” Alger said.
“I suppose you think I am a flat, thinking a hundred is a crowd.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, then throw them back in my face. I do not think you a flat; provincial, perhaps,” he added, with a reckless smile, and raised his hands as if to ward off a blow.
“A Bath Miss, and proud of it, sir.”
“Now you are giving yourself airs. A Radstock Miss, I would say. Do they have as many as a hundred people in Radstock, or do the thundering herd of a hundred come from Bath for exhibitions?”
“It is quality that counts, not quantity. At least they go to look at the pictures, not gawk at the other viewers.”
“I have not noticed you paying much attention to the pictures.”
“That is because the pictures are so inferior. We have better exhibitions at Radstock.” I made a point to examine the pictures for a moment after that jibe.
A moment later a pair of bucks came pelting down the stairs from the upper gallery and spotted Mr. Alger. They came forward, running their eyes over me in a blatantly assessing manner. They reminded me of Mr. Cruikshank’s caricatures of young bucks. One was tall and slender; the other shorter and stouter. Both looked like fops.
“This is a sad excuse for an exhibition,” the shorter one scoffed. “Trees and barns, and not a pretty woman in the lot.”
“Indeed it is. We are about to leave,” Alger replied. “Nice meeting you, gentlemen.”
“Hold on, Algie! Why don’t you introduce us to the lady?”
Alger introduced the short one as Sir Giles somebody and the tall one as Mr. Soames. “I have not seen you before, Miss Irving,” Sir Giles said. “Algie has been keeping you to himself, sly dog.”
“We were about to leave,” Alger said at once, and put his hand on my elbow to lead me out.
“Can you not wait a moment?” the one called Soames said, with a sly look. “Lord Evans is joining us.”
For some reason, the name Evans rattled Alger. “No, we really must be going,” he said.
We left, while a trail of laughter followed us. “Selfish, I call it!” Sir Giles called. “All your hard work is going to your head, Algie. Don’t worry, Evans won’t tell Lord Dolman you are taking an unscheduled holiday.”
We left at such a lively gait that I was short of breath by the time we reached the carriage.
“Tell me, Mr. Alger, why are we running? Are you avoiding work, and
What I found more interesting than the art was the onlookers. I gazed in disbelief at the elegant toilettes London ladies wore on a simple afternoon outing. There were bonnets bearing whole gardens of silk flowers, complete with stuffed birds. My new chipped straw paled to insignificance, and my pelisse was the wrong color and material, too. All the ladies were wearing mantles of twisted sarcenet, green to compliment their flower bonnets. Mine was a blue worsted.
I was introduced to a few people. A Lady MacIntyre and her daughter accosted Alger—and gave me, my bonnet, and blue pelisse a closer examination than they gave the artworks.
“Not one of the Season’s better exhibitions,” Lady MacIntyre complained. “One can see why the crowd is so small.”
It seemed like a goodish crowd to me. Looking over the throng, I said, “Do you not think it well attended, Lady MacIntyre? There must be over a hundred people here.”
“Oh, my dear, when you can count the viewers, the thing is a colossal failure.” She laughed. “When Reynolds and even Romney were alive, the crowds were lined up for blocks. This is not even a crowd, let alone a squeeze. Come along, Samantha. We shall go to Hyde Park. There is no one here. Shall we see you at Lady Bonham’s rout this evening, Algie?”
“If time permits, ma’am.”
“You are not accustomed to working for a living, eh? Tell Dolman I was asking for him.”
Lady MacIntyre nudged her butter-toothed daughter forward to make a curtsy, then hauled her away.”
“Now the crowd is down to ninety-eight. A definite flop,” Alger said.
“I suppose you think I am a flat, thinking a hundred is a crowd.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, then throw them back in my face. I do not think you a flat; provincial, perhaps,” he added, with a reckless smile, and raised his hands as if to ward off a blow.
“A Bath Miss, and proud of it, sir.”
“Now you are giving yourself airs. A Radstock Miss, I would say. Do they have as many as a hundred people in Radstock, or do the thundering herd of a hundred come from Bath for exhibitions?”
“It is quality that counts, not quantity. At least they go to look at the pictures, not gawk at the other viewers.”
“I have not noticed you paying much attention to the pictures.”
“That is because the pictures are so inferior. We have better exhibitions at Radstock.” I made a point to examine the pictures for a moment after that jibe.
A moment later a pair of bucks came pelting down the stairs from the upper gallery and spotted Mr. Alger. They came forward, running their eyes over me in a blatantly assessing manner. They reminded me of Mr. Cruikshank’s caricatures of young bucks. One was tall and slender; the other shorter and stouter. Both looked like fops.
“This is a sad excuse for an exhibition,” the shorter one scoffed. “Trees and barns, and not a pretty woman in the lot.”
“Indeed it is. We are about to leave,” Alger replied. “Nice meeting you, gentlemen.”
“Hold on, Algie! Why don’t you introduce us to the lady?”
Alger introduced the short one as Sir Giles somebody and the tall one as Mr. Soames. “I have not seen you before, Miss Irving,” Sir Giles said. “Algie has been keeping you to himself, sly dog.”
“We were about to leave,” Alger said at once, and put his hand on my elbow to lead me out.
“Can you not wait a moment?” the one called Soames said, with a sly look. “Lord Evans is joining us.”
For some reason, the name Evans rattled Alger. “No, we really must be going,” he said.
We left, while a trail of laughter followed us. “Selfish, I call it!” Sir Giles called. “All your hard work is going to your head, Algie. Don’t worry, Evans won’t tell Lord Dolman you are taking an unscheduled holiday.”
We left at such a lively gait that I was short of breath by the time we reached the carriage.
“Tell me, Mr. Alger, why are we running? Are you avoiding work, and
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