Dick was
perfectly
happy with a quiet peace that was as new to his mind
as it was foreign to his experiences.
as it was foreign to his experiences.
Kipling - Poems
"
"I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to Mr. Heldar friendly, an'
he laughed, an' did me a picture of the missis that is as good as a
coloured print. It 'asn't the high shine of a photograph, but what I say
is, 'Never look a gift-horse in the mouth. ' Mr. Heldar's dress-clothes
'aven't been on him for weeks. "
"Then it's all right," said Torpenhow to himself. "Orgies are healthy,
and Dick has a head of his own, but when it comes to women making
eyes I'm not so certain,--Binkie, never you be a man, little dorglums.
They're contrary brutes, and they do things without any reason. "
Dick had turned northward across the Park, but he was walking in the
spirit on the mud-flats with Maisie. He laughed aloud as he remembered
the day when he had decked Amomma's horns with the ham-frills, and
Maisie, white with rage, had cuffed him. How long those four years
seemed in review, and how closely Maisie was connected with every hour
of them! Storm across the sea, and Maisie in a gray dress on the beach,
sweeping her drenched hair out of her eyes and laughing at the homeward
race of the fishing-smacks; hot sunshine on the mud-flats, and Maisie
sniffing scornfully, with her chin in the air; Maisie flying before
the wind that threshed the foreshore and drove the sand like small shot
about her ears; Maisie, very composed and independent, telling lies to
Mrs. Jennett while Dick supported her with coarser perjuries; Maisie
picking her way delicately from stone to stone, a pistol in her hand
and her teeth firm-set; and Maisie in a gray dress sitting on the
grass between the mouth of a cannon and a nodding yellow sea-poppy. The
pictures passed before him one by one, and the last stayed the longest.
Dick was perfectly happy with a quiet peace that was as new to his mind
as it was foreign to his experiences. It never occurred to him that
there might be other calls upon his time than loafing across the Park in
the forenoon.
"There's a good working light now," he said, watching his shadow
placidly. "Some poor devil ought to be grateful for this. And there's
Maisie. "
She was walking towards him from the Marble Arch, and he saw that no
mannerism of her gait had been changed. It was good to find her still
Maisie, and, so to speak, his next-door neighbour. No greeting passed
between them, because there had been none in the old days.
"What are you doing out of your studio at this hour? " said Dick, as one
who was entitled to ask.
"Idling. Just idling. I got angry with a chin and scraped it out. Then I
left it in a little heap of paint-chips and came away. "
"I know what palette-knifing means. What was the piccy?
"I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to Mr. Heldar friendly, an'
he laughed, an' did me a picture of the missis that is as good as a
coloured print. It 'asn't the high shine of a photograph, but what I say
is, 'Never look a gift-horse in the mouth. ' Mr. Heldar's dress-clothes
'aven't been on him for weeks. "
"Then it's all right," said Torpenhow to himself. "Orgies are healthy,
and Dick has a head of his own, but when it comes to women making
eyes I'm not so certain,--Binkie, never you be a man, little dorglums.
They're contrary brutes, and they do things without any reason. "
Dick had turned northward across the Park, but he was walking in the
spirit on the mud-flats with Maisie. He laughed aloud as he remembered
the day when he had decked Amomma's horns with the ham-frills, and
Maisie, white with rage, had cuffed him. How long those four years
seemed in review, and how closely Maisie was connected with every hour
of them! Storm across the sea, and Maisie in a gray dress on the beach,
sweeping her drenched hair out of her eyes and laughing at the homeward
race of the fishing-smacks; hot sunshine on the mud-flats, and Maisie
sniffing scornfully, with her chin in the air; Maisie flying before
the wind that threshed the foreshore and drove the sand like small shot
about her ears; Maisie, very composed and independent, telling lies to
Mrs. Jennett while Dick supported her with coarser perjuries; Maisie
picking her way delicately from stone to stone, a pistol in her hand
and her teeth firm-set; and Maisie in a gray dress sitting on the
grass between the mouth of a cannon and a nodding yellow sea-poppy. The
pictures passed before him one by one, and the last stayed the longest.
Dick was perfectly happy with a quiet peace that was as new to his mind
as it was foreign to his experiences. It never occurred to him that
there might be other calls upon his time than loafing across the Park in
the forenoon.
"There's a good working light now," he said, watching his shadow
placidly. "Some poor devil ought to be grateful for this. And there's
Maisie. "
She was walking towards him from the Marble Arch, and he saw that no
mannerism of her gait had been changed. It was good to find her still
Maisie, and, so to speak, his next-door neighbour. No greeting passed
between them, because there had been none in the old days.
"What are you doing out of your studio at this hour? " said Dick, as one
who was entitled to ask.
"Idling. Just idling. I got angry with a chin and scraped it out. Then I
left it in a little heap of paint-chips and came away. "
"I know what palette-knifing means. What was the piccy?
