"
There were already several people in the room, standing about and looking
tentative. Lady Holme knew most of them. One was a French actor who was
going to give a monologue; very short, very stout, very
intelligent-looking, with a face that seemed almost too flexible to be
human. Two or three were singers from the Opera House. Another was an
aristocratic amateur, an intimate friend of Lady Holme's, who had a
beautiful contralto voice. Several of the committee were there too,
making themselves agreeable to the artists. Lady Holme began to speak to
the French actor. Fritz stood by. He scarcely understood a word of
French, and always looked rather contemptuous when it was talked in his
presence. The French actor appealed to him on some point in the
conversation. He straddled his legs, uttered a loud, "Oh, wee! Oh, wee!
wee!" and laughed.
"Lord Holme est tout a fait de mon avis!" cried the comedian.
"Evidemment," she answered, wishing Fritz would go. Miss Schley had not
come yet. She was certain to be effectively late, as she had been at Mrs.
Wolfstein's lunch-party. Lady Holme did not feel as if she cared whether
she came early or late, whether she were there or not. She was still
companioned by her curious sensation of the morning, a sensation of odd
loneliness and detachment, combined with excitement--but an excitement
which had nothing to do with the present. It seemed to her as if she were
a person leaning out of a window and looking eagerly along a road.
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