DOI article:
Dowie, Ménie Muriel: An idyll in millinery
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26393#0057
By Menie Muriel Dowie 53
They were going downstairs and had to pass through the
showrooms—quite near—ah, quite near—the table where the
little grey and brown pigeons sat clustered, where the one ring-
dove had sat too.
“ It is sometimes the fate of a lover who thinks too long,”
Madame was saying, with an air of much philosophy. “But see
now, if my lord would care to send a little souvenir ”—Madame
reached hastily to a model on a stand—“ comrne cadeau de noce here
is something quite exquis/” She kissed the tips of her brown
fingers—inimitably, it must be allowed. “So simple, so young,
so innocent—I could pose a little nceud of ;nyosotis. Coming from
my lord, it would be so delicate ! ”
Liphook was in a shop. There were people about. He was a
lover, he was a fool, he was a gentleman.
“ Er—thank you—not to-day,” he said ; the air of the world
he had repudiated came back to him. And a man like Liphook
doesn’t let you see when he is hit. That is the beauty of him.
He knew it was true, but he would go to Paris ; yes, though he
knew it was true. He would not, could not see her. But he
would go.
He stood a moment in the sun outside the shop, its windows
like gardens behind him ; its shop-ladies like evil-eyed reptiles in
these gardens. The carpets, the mirrors on the wall, the tables
at the back—and it was here he had first seen the tip and heard
the flutter of an angel’s wing !
“Lord Liphook,” said a voice, “what an age . . . .”
He turned and lifted his hat.
His world had claimed him.
They were going downstairs and had to pass through the
showrooms—quite near—ah, quite near—the table where the
little grey and brown pigeons sat clustered, where the one ring-
dove had sat too.
“ It is sometimes the fate of a lover who thinks too long,”
Madame was saying, with an air of much philosophy. “But see
now, if my lord would care to send a little souvenir ”—Madame
reached hastily to a model on a stand—“ comrne cadeau de noce here
is something quite exquis/” She kissed the tips of her brown
fingers—inimitably, it must be allowed. “So simple, so young,
so innocent—I could pose a little nceud of ;nyosotis. Coming from
my lord, it would be so delicate ! ”
Liphook was in a shop. There were people about. He was a
lover, he was a fool, he was a gentleman.
“ Er—thank you—not to-day,” he said ; the air of the world
he had repudiated came back to him. And a man like Liphook
doesn’t let you see when he is hit. That is the beauty of him.
He knew it was true, but he would go to Paris ; yes, though he
knew it was true. He would not, could not see her. But he
would go.
He stood a moment in the sun outside the shop, its windows
like gardens behind him ; its shop-ladies like evil-eyed reptiles in
these gardens. The carpets, the mirrors on the wall, the tables
at the back—and it was here he had first seen the tip and heard
the flutter of an angel’s wing !
“Lord Liphook,” said a voice, “what an age . . . .”
He turned and lifted his hat.
His world had claimed him.