DOI article:
Syrett, Netta: A correspondence
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27806#0175
By Netta Syrett 171
her usual spring visit, which was always devoted to shopping and
incidental frivolities. She was at the theatre with her husband
one evening. The house was full, and between the acts she leant
forward on the red velvet cushion before her seat in the dress
circle and inspected the stalls with a view to seeing how the hair
was being worn this season, and whether the sleeves in the new
dinner-dress she had ordered were too outrageous. The buzz of
talk and the tuneful wail of the violins fell pleasantly on her ears,
as she scanned the rows of backs for a possible acquaintance.
“ There’s a beautiful woman. In the second box—look,” her
husband turned to her to say, lowering his glasses. “ Do you
see ? In white—next to a good-looking fellow with a priggish
nose.”
“ Why, it’s Mrs. Margrave ! ” she exclaimed in surprise, after
a moment’s scrutiny. “Yes, isn’t she lovely? And—yes, that
wretched woman’s there too,” she added with a change of tone.
“ Mrs. Margrave ? ” he repeated.
“Yes. You know, Jim. Cecily Armstrong. We dined at
the Armstrongs’ once, two or three years ago, don’t you
remember ? I thought her beautiful then. Fancy seeing her
here to-night. It must be quite two years since we met her. I
wonder if she would recognise me ? ”
“ She married that fellow, then ? I had some idea it was
all off?”
“ So it was for a time. There was some mysterious fuss, don’t
you remember ? But Mrs. Armstrong worked it. Cecily always
did what she was told. I don’t believe the poor child was even
consulted. Look ! ” she broke off to exclaim indignantly.
“ He isn’t paying her the smallest attention. He talks all the
time to that horrid Miss Verrol. I always disliked her.”
Mrs. Margrave was leaning back listlessly in her chair. Her
fan
her usual spring visit, which was always devoted to shopping and
incidental frivolities. She was at the theatre with her husband
one evening. The house was full, and between the acts she leant
forward on the red velvet cushion before her seat in the dress
circle and inspected the stalls with a view to seeing how the hair
was being worn this season, and whether the sleeves in the new
dinner-dress she had ordered were too outrageous. The buzz of
talk and the tuneful wail of the violins fell pleasantly on her ears,
as she scanned the rows of backs for a possible acquaintance.
“ There’s a beautiful woman. In the second box—look,” her
husband turned to her to say, lowering his glasses. “ Do you
see ? In white—next to a good-looking fellow with a priggish
nose.”
“ Why, it’s Mrs. Margrave ! ” she exclaimed in surprise, after
a moment’s scrutiny. “Yes, isn’t she lovely? And—yes, that
wretched woman’s there too,” she added with a change of tone.
“ Mrs. Margrave ? ” he repeated.
“Yes. You know, Jim. Cecily Armstrong. We dined at
the Armstrongs’ once, two or three years ago, don’t you
remember ? I thought her beautiful then. Fancy seeing her
here to-night. It must be quite two years since we met her. I
wonder if she would recognise me ? ”
“ She married that fellow, then ? I had some idea it was
all off?”
“ So it was for a time. There was some mysterious fuss, don’t
you remember ? But Mrs. Armstrong worked it. Cecily always
did what she was told. I don’t believe the poor child was even
consulted. Look ! ” she broke off to exclaim indignantly.
“ He isn’t paying her the smallest attention. He talks all the
time to that horrid Miss Verrol. I always disliked her.”
Mrs. Margrave was leaning back listlessly in her chair. Her
fan