The odd thing was that it did not seem to tire others. They found it
permanently piquant. Men said of Miss Schley, "She's a devilish clever
little thing. She don't say much, but she's up to every move on the
board." Women were impressed by her. There was something in her supreme
and snowy composure that suggested inflexible will. Nothing ever put her
out or made her look as if she were in a false position.
London was captivated by the abnormal combination of snow and slyness
which she presented to it, and began at once to make much of her.
At one time the English were supposed to be cold; and rather gloried in
the supposition. But recently a change has taken place in the national
character--at any rate as exhibited in London. Rigidity has gone out of
fashion. It is condemned as insular, and unless you are cosmopolitan
nowadays you are nothing, or worse than nothing. The smart Englishwoman
is beginning to be almost as restless as a Neapolitan. She is in a
continual flutter of movement, as if her body were threaded with
trembling wires. She uses a great deal of gesture. She is noisy about
nothing. She is vivacious at all costs, and would rather suggest hysteria
than British phlegm.
Miss Schley's calm was therefore in no danger of being drowned in any
pervasive calm about her. On the contrary, it stood out. It became very
individual. Her composed speechlessness in the midst of uneasy
chatter--the Englishwoman is seldom really self-possessed--carried with
it a certain dignity which took the place of breeding.
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