But I
am perfectly certain, somehow or other, that you don't care the least
little bit in the world for ME.
am perfectly certain, somehow or other, that you don't care the least
little bit in the world for ME.
Kipling - Poems
But all that
Hannasyde wanted to know and see and think about, was this maddening and
perplexing likeness of face and voice and manner. He was bent on making
a fool of himself that way; and he was in no sort disappointed.
Open and obvious devotion from any sort of man is always pleasant to
any sort of woman; but Mrs. Landys-Haggert, being a woman of the world,
could make nothing of Hannasyde's admiration.
He would take any amount of trouble--he was a selfish man habitually--to
meet and forestall, if possible, her wishes.
Anything she told him to do was law; and he was, there could be no
doubting it, fond of her company so long as she talked to him, and kept
on talking about trivialities. But when she launched into expression of
her personal views and her wrongs, those small social differences
that make the spice of Simla life, Hannasyde was neither pleased nor
interested. He didn't want to know anything about Mrs. Landys-Haggert,
or her experiences in the past--she had travelled nearly all over the
world, and could talk cleverly--he wanted the likeness of Alice Chisane
before his eyes and her voice in his ears.
Anything outside that, reminding him of another personality jarred, and
he showed that it did.
Under the new Post Office, one evening, Mrs. Landys-Haggert turned on
him, and spoke her mind shortly and without warning. "Mr. Hannasyde,"
said she, "will you be good enough to explain why you have appointed
yourself my special cavalier servente? I don't understand it.
But I
am perfectly certain, somehow or other, that you don't care the least
little bit in the world for ME. " This seems to support, by the way, the
theory that no man can act or tell lies to a woman without being found
out. Hannasyde was taken off his guard. His defence never was a strong
one, because he was always thinking of himself, and he blurted out,
before he knew what he was saying, this inexpedient answer:--"No more I
do. "
The queerness of the situation and the reply, made Mrs. Haggert laugh.
Then it all came out; and at the end of Hannasyde's lucid explanation,
Mrs. Haggert said, with the least little touch of scorn in her
voice:--"So I'm to act as the lay-figure for you to hang the rags of
your tattered affections on, am I? "
Hannasyde didn't see what answer was required, and he devoted himself
generally and vaguely to the praise of Alice Chisane, which was
unsatisfactory. Now it is to be thoroughly made clear that Mrs. Haggert
had not the shadow of a ghost of an interest in Hannasyde.
Only--only no woman likes being made love through instead of
to--specially on behalf of a musty divinity of four years' standing.
Hannasyde did not see that he had made any very particular exhibition
of himself. He was glad to find a sympathetic soul in the arid wastes of
Simla.
When the season ended, Hannasyde went down to his own place and Mrs.
Haggert to hers.
Hannasyde wanted to know and see and think about, was this maddening and
perplexing likeness of face and voice and manner. He was bent on making
a fool of himself that way; and he was in no sort disappointed.
Open and obvious devotion from any sort of man is always pleasant to
any sort of woman; but Mrs. Landys-Haggert, being a woman of the world,
could make nothing of Hannasyde's admiration.
He would take any amount of trouble--he was a selfish man habitually--to
meet and forestall, if possible, her wishes.
Anything she told him to do was law; and he was, there could be no
doubting it, fond of her company so long as she talked to him, and kept
on talking about trivialities. But when she launched into expression of
her personal views and her wrongs, those small social differences
that make the spice of Simla life, Hannasyde was neither pleased nor
interested. He didn't want to know anything about Mrs. Landys-Haggert,
or her experiences in the past--she had travelled nearly all over the
world, and could talk cleverly--he wanted the likeness of Alice Chisane
before his eyes and her voice in his ears.
Anything outside that, reminding him of another personality jarred, and
he showed that it did.
Under the new Post Office, one evening, Mrs. Landys-Haggert turned on
him, and spoke her mind shortly and without warning. "Mr. Hannasyde,"
said she, "will you be good enough to explain why you have appointed
yourself my special cavalier servente? I don't understand it.
But I
am perfectly certain, somehow or other, that you don't care the least
little bit in the world for ME. " This seems to support, by the way, the
theory that no man can act or tell lies to a woman without being found
out. Hannasyde was taken off his guard. His defence never was a strong
one, because he was always thinking of himself, and he blurted out,
before he knew what he was saying, this inexpedient answer:--"No more I
do. "
The queerness of the situation and the reply, made Mrs. Haggert laugh.
Then it all came out; and at the end of Hannasyde's lucid explanation,
Mrs. Haggert said, with the least little touch of scorn in her
voice:--"So I'm to act as the lay-figure for you to hang the rags of
your tattered affections on, am I? "
Hannasyde didn't see what answer was required, and he devoted himself
generally and vaguely to the praise of Alice Chisane, which was
unsatisfactory. Now it is to be thoroughly made clear that Mrs. Haggert
had not the shadow of a ghost of an interest in Hannasyde.
Only--only no woman likes being made love through instead of
to--specially on behalf of a musty divinity of four years' standing.
Hannasyde did not see that he had made any very particular exhibition
of himself. He was glad to find a sympathetic soul in the arid wastes of
Simla.
When the season ended, Hannasyde went down to his own place and Mrs.
Haggert to hers.
