DOI Artikel:
D'Arcy, Ella: At Twickenham
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.25498#0326
At Twickenham
322
remarked, but without any intensity of desire. Before the short
phrase was finished, her voice had dropped into apathy, her gaze
had wandered away from Matheson’s boots, from the garden,
from the hour. She seemed not to hear her sister’s dubious “Yes,
but I wonder he wears a tweed suit on Sundays ! ”
Loetitia heard herself calling him Algernon or Edgar, and re-
monstrating with him on the subject. Then she went into her
bedroom, recurled a peccant lock on her temple, and joined the
men just as the dinner gong sounded.
Matheson was pressed to stay and share the early dinner.
“ Unless,” said Corbett, seeing that he hesitated, “ Mrs. Matheson
. . . perhaps ... is waiting for you ? ”
“ There is no Mrs. Matheson, as yet,” he answered smiling,
“ although Payne is always telling me it’s my professional duty to
get married as soon as possible.”
Loetitia coloured and smiled.
*****
From that day Matheson was often at “ Braemar.” At first he
came ostensibly to attend to Hugo, but before that small pickle
was on his feet again and in fresh mischief, he was sufficiently
friendly with the family to drop in without any excuse at all.
He would come of an evening and ask for Corbett, and the maid
would show him into the little study behind the dining-room,
where Corbett enjoyed his after-dinner smoke. He enjoyed it
doubly in Matheson’s society, and discovered he had been
thirsting for some such companionship for years. The girls were
awfully nice, of course, but .... and then, the fellows in the
City ... he compared them with Matheson, much to their
disadvantage. For Matheson struck him as being amazingly
clever—a pillar of originality—and his fine indifference to the
most cherished opinions of Twickenham made Corbett catch his
breath,
322
remarked, but without any intensity of desire. Before the short
phrase was finished, her voice had dropped into apathy, her gaze
had wandered away from Matheson’s boots, from the garden,
from the hour. She seemed not to hear her sister’s dubious “Yes,
but I wonder he wears a tweed suit on Sundays ! ”
Loetitia heard herself calling him Algernon or Edgar, and re-
monstrating with him on the subject. Then she went into her
bedroom, recurled a peccant lock on her temple, and joined the
men just as the dinner gong sounded.
Matheson was pressed to stay and share the early dinner.
“ Unless,” said Corbett, seeing that he hesitated, “ Mrs. Matheson
. . . perhaps ... is waiting for you ? ”
“ There is no Mrs. Matheson, as yet,” he answered smiling,
“ although Payne is always telling me it’s my professional duty to
get married as soon as possible.”
Loetitia coloured and smiled.
*****
From that day Matheson was often at “ Braemar.” At first he
came ostensibly to attend to Hugo, but before that small pickle
was on his feet again and in fresh mischief, he was sufficiently
friendly with the family to drop in without any excuse at all.
He would come of an evening and ask for Corbett, and the maid
would show him into the little study behind the dining-room,
where Corbett enjoyed his after-dinner smoke. He enjoyed it
doubly in Matheson’s society, and discovered he had been
thirsting for some such companionship for years. The girls were
awfully nice, of course, but .... and then, the fellows in the
City ... he compared them with Matheson, much to their
disadvantage. For Matheson struck him as being amazingly
clever—a pillar of originality—and his fine indifference to the
most cherished opinions of Twickenham made Corbett catch his
breath,