DOI article:
Dowie, Ménie Muriel: An idyll in millinery
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26393#0044
40 An Idyll in Millinery
Some one from his tailor’s with so-called “ new ” patterns, no
doubt ; well-
He walked straight into the room, never thinking, and he saw
Goldenmuth. The man had an offensive orchid in his buttonhole.
To say that Liphook was surprised is nothing; he was astounded,
and too angry to call up any expression whatever to his face ; he
was rigid with rage. What in hell had Sims let the fellow in for ?
However, this was the last of Sims ; Sims would go.
The oily little brute, with his odious hat in his hand, was speak-
ing ; was saying something about being fortunate in finding his
lordship, &c.
“ Be good enough to tell me your business with me,” said
Liphook, with undisguised savagery. Though he had asked him
to speak, he thought that when her name was mentioned he would
have to choke him. His rival—by gad, this little Jew beggar
was Liphook’s rival. Goldenmuth hitched his sallow neck, as
leathery as a turtle’s, in his high, burnished collar, and took his
pocket-book from his breast pocket—which meant that he was
nervous, and forgot that he was not calling upon a a wholesale
buyer,” to whom he would presently show a pattern. He pressed
the book in both hands, and swayed forward on his toes—swayed
into hurried speech.
“Being interested in a young lady whom your lordship has
honoured with your attentions lately, I called to ’ave a little
talk.” The man had an indescribable accent, a detestable fluency,
a smile which nearly warranted you in poisoning him, a manner
-! There was silence. Liphook waited ; the snap with
which he bit off four tough orange-coloured hairs from his mous-
tache, sounded to him like the stroke of a hammer in the street.
Then an idea struck him. He put a question :
“ What has it got to do with you ? ”
“ I am
Some one from his tailor’s with so-called “ new ” patterns, no
doubt ; well-
He walked straight into the room, never thinking, and he saw
Goldenmuth. The man had an offensive orchid in his buttonhole.
To say that Liphook was surprised is nothing; he was astounded,
and too angry to call up any expression whatever to his face ; he
was rigid with rage. What in hell had Sims let the fellow in for ?
However, this was the last of Sims ; Sims would go.
The oily little brute, with his odious hat in his hand, was speak-
ing ; was saying something about being fortunate in finding his
lordship, &c.
“ Be good enough to tell me your business with me,” said
Liphook, with undisguised savagery. Though he had asked him
to speak, he thought that when her name was mentioned he would
have to choke him. His rival—by gad, this little Jew beggar
was Liphook’s rival. Goldenmuth hitched his sallow neck, as
leathery as a turtle’s, in his high, burnished collar, and took his
pocket-book from his breast pocket—which meant that he was
nervous, and forgot that he was not calling upon a a wholesale
buyer,” to whom he would presently show a pattern. He pressed
the book in both hands, and swayed forward on his toes—swayed
into hurried speech.
“Being interested in a young lady whom your lordship has
honoured with your attentions lately, I called to ’ave a little
talk.” The man had an indescribable accent, a detestable fluency,
a smile which nearly warranted you in poisoning him, a manner
-! There was silence. Liphook waited ; the snap with
which he bit off four tough orange-coloured hairs from his mous-
tache, sounded to him like the stroke of a hammer in the street.
Then an idea struck him. He put a question :
“ What has it got to do with you ? ”
“ I am