For instance----"
I told her of Anastasius Papadopoulos's tawdry, gimcrack presents which
Lola has suffered to remain in her drawing-room so as not to hurt the
poor little wretch.
"That's very touching. Where does she live?"
"She has a flat in Cadogan Gardens."
"Is she in London now?"
"Yes."
"I should like very much to know her," she said calmly.
I vow and declare again that the more straightforward and open-eyed, the
less subtle, temperamental, and neurotic are women, the more are they
baffling. I had wondered for some time whither the catechism tended,
and now, with a sudden jerk, it stopped short at this most unexpected
terminus. It was startling. I rose and mechanically placed my empty
tea-cup on the tray by her side.
"The wish, my dear Eleanor," said I, quite formally, "does great credit
to your heart."
There was a short pause, marking an automatic close of the subject.
Deeply as I admired both women, I shrank from the idea of their meeting.
It seemed curiously indelicate, in view both of my former engagement
to Eleanor and of Lola's frank avowal of her feelings towards me before
what I shall always regard as my death.
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