FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   3308   3309   3310   3311   3312   3313   3314   3315   3316   3317   3318   3319   3320   3321   3322   3323   3324   3325   3326   3327   3328   3329   3330   3331   3332  
3333   3334   3335   3336   3337   3338   3339   3340   3341   3342   3343   3344   3345   3346   3347   3348   3349   3350   3351   3352   3353   3354   3355   3356   3357   >>   >|  
. [With a clear look] Charles! SIR CHARLES. What was she like when you were kids? HUNTINGDON. Oh, all right. Could be rather a little devil, of course, when her monkey was up. SIR CHARLES. I'm fond of her. Nothing she wants that she hasn't got, is there? HUNTINGDON. Never heard her say so. SIR CHARLES. [Dimly] I don't know whether old George is a bit too matter of fact for her. H'm? [A short silence.] LADY DEDMOND. There's a Mr. Malise coming here to-night. I forget if you know him. HUNTINGDON. Yes. Rather a thorough-bred mongrel. LADY DEDMOND. He's literary. [With hesitation] You--you don't think he--puts--er--ideas into her head? HUNTINGDON. I asked Greyman, the novelist, about him; seems he's a bit of an Ishmaelite, even among those fellows. Can't see Clare---- LADY DEDMOND. No. Only, the great thing is that she shouldn't be encouraged. Listen!--It is her-coming in. I can hear their voices. Gone to her room. What a blessing that man isn't here yet! [The door bell rings] Tt! There he is, I expect. SIR CHARLES. What are we goin' to say? HUNTINGDON. Say they're dining out, and we're not to wait Bridge for them. SIR CHARLES. Good! The door is opened, and PAYNTER announces "Mr. Kenneth Malise." MALISE enters. He is a tall man, about thirty-five, with a strongly marked, dark, irregular, ironic face, and eyes which seem to have needles in their pupils. His thick hair is rather untidy, and his dress clothes not too new. LADY DEDMOND. How do you do? My son and daughter-in-law are so very sorry. They'll be here directly. [MALISE bows with a queer, curly smile.] SIR CHARLES. [Shaking hands] How d'you do, sir? HUNTINGDON. We've met, I think. He gives MALISE that peculiar smiling stare, which seems to warn the person bowed to of the sort of person he is. MALISE'S eyes sparkle. LADY DEDMOND. Clare will be so grieved. One of those invitations MALISE. On the spur of the moment. SIR CHARLES. You play Bridge, sir? MALISE. Afraid not! SIR CHARLES. Don't mean that? Then we shall have to wait for 'em. LADY DEDMOND. I forget, Mr. Malise--you write, don't you? MALISE. Such is my weakness. LADY DEDMOND. Delightful profession. SIR CHARLES. Doesn't tie you! What! MALISE. Only by the head. SIR CHARLES. I'm always thinkin' of writin' my experiences. MALISE. Indeed!
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   3308   3309   3310   3311   3312   3313   3314   3315   3316   3317   3318   3319   3320   3321   3322   3323   3324   3325   3326   3327   3328   3329   3330   3331   3332  
3333   3334   3335   3336   3337   3338   3339   3340   3341   3342   3343   3344   3345   3346   3347   3348   3349   3350   3351   3352   3353   3354   3355   3356   3357   >>   >|  



Top keywords:

CHARLES

 
MALISE
 

DEDMOND

 
HUNTINGDON
 

Malise

 

forget

 

coming

 
person
 

Bridge

 

Shaking


daughter

 

clothes

 
Charles
 

directly

 

irregular

 

ironic

 

marked

 

strongly

 

untidy

 

needles


pupils
 

weakness

 

Afraid

 

Delightful

 

profession

 
writin
 

experiences

 
Indeed
 

thinkin

 

moment


smiling
 

peculiar

 

thirty

 
invitations
 

grieved

 

sparkle

 

Ishmaelite

 

novelist

 

Greyman

 

fellows


George

 
matter
 
Rather
 

hesitation

 

literary

 

mongrel

 

shouldn

 

dining

 

Kenneth

 

silence