timidly she asked Colonel Martlett whether he liked Strauss,
and was puzzled by his answer: "Rather; those 'Tales of Hoffmann' are
rippin', don't you think? You go to the opera much?" She could not, of
course, know that the thought which instantly rose within her was doing
the governing classes a grave injustice--almost all of whom save Colonel
Martlett knew that the 'Tales of Hoffmann' were by one Offenbach. But
beyond all things she felt she would never, never learn to talk as they
were all talking--so quickly, so continuously, so without caring whether
everybody or only the person they were talking to heard what they said.
She had always felt that what you said was only meant for the person you
said it to, but here in the great world she must evidently not say
anything that was not meant for everybody, and she felt terribly that she
could not think of anything of that sort to say. And suddenly she began
to want to be alone. That, however, was surely wicked and wasteful, when
she ought to be learning such a tremendous lot; and yet, what was there
to learn? And listening just sufficiently to Colonel Martlett, who was
telling her how great a man he thought a certain general, she looked
almost despairingly at the one who was going to bite. He was quite
silent at that moment, gazing at his plate, which was strangely empty.
And Nedda thought: 'He has jolly wrinkles about his eyes, only they might
be heart disease; and I like the color of his face, so nice and yellow,
only that might be liver. But I DO like him--I wish I'd been sitting
next to him; he looks real.' From that thought, of the reality of a man
whose name she did not know, she passed suddenly into the feeling that
nothing else of this about her was real at all, neither the talk nor the
faces, not even the things she was eating. It was all a queer, buzzing
dream. Nor did that sensation of unreality cease when her aunt began
collecting her gloves, and they trooped forth to the drawing-room.
There, seated between Mrs. Sleesor and Lady Britto, with Lady Malloring
opposite, and Miss Bawtrey leaning over the piano toward them, she
pinched herself to get rid of the feeling that, when all these were out
of sight of each other, they would become silent and have on their lips a
little, bitter smile. Would it be like that up in their bedrooms, or
would it only be on her (Nedda's) own lips that this little smile would
come? It was a question she could not answer; n