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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Woman with the Fan"

You know I
hate them."
"Music-hall! I like that. Why, it's the best thing in /The Chick from the
Army and Navy/ at the Blue Theatre."
"It's disgustingly vulgar."
"What next? Why, I saw the Lord Chan--"
"I daresay you did. Vulgarity will appeal to the Saints of Heaven next
season if things go on as they're going now. Come along."
She went out of the room, walking more quickly than she usually walked,
and holding herself very upright. Lord Holme followed, forming the words
of his favourite song with his lips, and screwing up his eyes as if he
were looking at an improper peepshow. When they were in the electric
brougham, which spun along with scarcely any noise, he began:
"I say, Vi, how long've you known Miss Schley?"
"I don't know. Some weeks."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I did. I said I had met her at Mrs. Wolfstein's lunch."
"No, but why didn't you tell me how like you she was?"
There was complete silence in the brougham for a minute. Then Lady Holme
said:
"I had no idea she was like me."
"Then you're blind, old girl. She's like you if you'd been a chorus-girl
and known a lot of things you don't know."
"Really. Perhaps she has been a chorus-girl."
"I'll bet she has, whether she says so or not."
He gave a deep chuckle. Lady Holme's gown rustled as she leaned back in
her corner.
"And she's goin' to Arkell House. Americans are the very devil for
gettin' on.


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