ever written. And those girls in white, waving
palms in front of the hero--What's-his-name. There are some women who
are born to do that and nothing else. Thin lips. Fixed idiotic smile.
They don't think a bit about what they're doing. They're thinking about
themselves all the time. They simply don't care a damn about the hero,
or about the audience, or anything, and they scarcely pretend to.
Arrogance isn't the word. It's something more terrific--it's stupendous!
Mrs. John's like that. I thought of it as I was coming along here."

"Is she?" said George negligently. "Perhaps she is. I never thought of
her like that."

Turnham Green Station was announced.

III

Despite the fresh pinky horrors of its external architecture, and
despite his own desire and firm intention to the contrary, George was
very deeply impressed by the new Orgreave home. It was far larger than
the previous house. The entrance was spacious, and the drawing-room,
with a great fire at either end, immense. He had never been in an
interior so splendid. He tried to be off-hand in his attitude towards
it, but did not fully succeed. The taste shown in the decoration and
furniture was almost unexceptionable. White walls--Heppel-white;
chintz--black, crackling chintz strewn with tens of thousands of giant
roses. On the walls were a few lithographs--John's contribution to the
general effect. John having of late years begun to take himself
seriously as a collector of lithographs.

One-third of the room was divided from the rest by an arched and fretted
screen of red lacquer, and within this open cage stood Mrs. John,
surveying winsomely the expanse of little tables, little chairs, big
chairs, huge chairs, sofas, rugs, flower-vases, and knick-knacks. She
had an advantage over most blondes nearing the forties in that she had
not stoutened. She was in fact thin as well as short; but her face was
too thin. Still, it dimpled, and she held her head knowingly on one
side, and her bright hair was wonderfully done up. Dressed richly as she
was, and assisted by the rejuvenating magic of jewels, she produced, in
the shadow of the screen, a notable effect of youthful vivacity, which
only the insult of close inspection could destroy. With sinuous gestures
she waved Mr. Enwright's metaphorical palm before the approaching
George. Her smile flattered him; her frail, dinging hand flattered him.
He had known her in her harsh morning moods; he had seen that
persuasive,