Red Money - Fergus Hume (warren buffett book recommendations TXT) 📗

To London,  And To Hunt Him Up At His Club. With This Idea She

Intimated To Lady Garvington That She Was Leaving The Manor Early Next

Morning. The Ladies Had Just Left The Dinner-Table,  And Were Having

Coffee In The Drawing-Room When Miss Greeby Made This Abrupt

Announcement.

 

"Oh,  My Dear," Said Lady Garvington,  In Dismay. "I Wish You Would Change

Your Mind. Nearly Everyone Has Gone,  And The House Is Getting Quite

Dull."

 

"Thanks Ever So Much," Remarked Mrs. Belgrove Lightly. She Sat Near The

Fire,  For The Evening Was Chilly,  And What With Paint And Powder,  And

Hair-Dye,  To Say Nothing Of Her Artistic And Carefully Chosen Dress,

Looked Barely Thirty-Five In The Rosy Lights Cast By The Shaded Lamps.

Chapter 8 (At Midnight) Pg 70

 

"I Don't Mean You,  Dear," Murmured The Hostess,  Who Was Even More Untidy

And Helpless Than Usual. "You Are Quite A Host In Yourself. And That

Recipe You Gave Me For Patagonian Soup Kept Garvington In Quite A Good

Humor For Ever So Long. But The House Will Be Dull For You Without

Clara."

 

"Agnes Is Here,  Jane."

 

"I Fear Agnes Is Not Much Of An Entertainer," Said That Lady,  Smiling In

A Weary Manner,  For This Society Chatter Bored Her Greatly.

 

"That's Not To Be Wondered At," Struck In Miss Greeby Abruptly. "For Of

Course You Are Thinking Of Your Husband."

 

Lady Agnes Colored Slightly Under Miss Greeby's Very Direct Gaze,  But

Replied Equably Enough,  To Save Appearances,  "He Is Still In Paris."

 

"When Did You Last Hear From Him,  Dear?" Questioned Lady Garvington,

More To Manufacture Conversation Than Because She Really Cared.

 

"Only To-Day I Had A Letter. He Is Carrying Out Some Special Business

And Will Return In Two Or Three Weeks."

 

"You Will Be Glad To See Him,  No Doubt," Sneered Miss Greeby.

 

"I Am Always Glad To See My Husband And To Be With Him," Answered Lady

Agnes In A Dignified Manner. She Knew Perfectly Well That Miss Greeby

Hated Her,  And Guessed The Reason,  But She Was Not Going To Give Her Any

Satisfaction By Revealing The True Feelings Of Her Heart.

 

"Well,  I Intend To Stay Here,  Jane,  If It's All The Same To You," Cried

Mrs. Belgrove In Her Liveliest Manner And With A Side Glance,  Taking In

Both Miss Greeby And Lady Agnes. "Only This Morning I Received A

Chit-Chat Letter From Mr. Lambert--We Are Great Friends You Know--Saying

That He Intended To Come Here For A Few Days. Such A Delightful Man He

Is."

 

"Oh,  Dear Me,  Yes," Cried Lady Garvington,  Starting. "I Remember. He

Wrote Yesterday From London,  Asking If He Might Come. I Told Him Yes,

Although I Mentioned That We Had Hardly Anyone With Us Just Now."

 

Miss Greeby Looked Greatly Annoyed,  As Mrs. Belgrove Maliciously Saw,

For She Knew Well That The Heiress Would Now Regret Having So Hastily

Intimated Her Approaching Departure. What Was The Expression On Lady

Agnes's Face,  The Old Lady Could Not See,  For The Millionaire's Wife

Shielded It--Presumably From The Fire--With A Large Fan Of White

Feathers. Had Mrs. Belgrove Been Able To Read That Countenance She Would

Have Seen Satisfaction Written Thereon,  And Would Probably Have Set Down

The Expression To A Wrong Cause. In Reality,  Agnes Was Glad To Think

That Lambert's Promise Was Being Kept,  And That He No Longer Intended To

Chapter 8 (At Midnight) Pg 71

Avoid Her Company So Openly.

 

But If She Was Pleased,  Miss Greeby Was Not,  And Still Continued To Look

Annoyed,  Since She Had Burnt Her Boats By Announcing Her Departure. And

What Annoyed Her Still More Than Her Hasty Decision Was,  That She Would

Leave Lambert In The House Along With The Rival She Most Dreaded. Though

What The Young Man Could See In This Pale,  Washed-Out Creature Miss

Greeby Could Not Imagine. She Glanced At A Near Mirror And Saw Her Own

Opulent,  Full-Blown Looks Clothed In A Pale-Blue Dinner-Gown,  Which Went

So Well--As She Inartistically Decided,  With Her Ruddy Locks,  Mrs.

Belgrove Considered That Miss Greeby Looked Like A Paint-Box,  Or A

Sunset,  Or One Of Turner's Most Vivid Pictures,  But The Heiress Was Very

Well Pleased With Herself. Lady Agnes,  In Her Favorite White,  With Her

Pale Face And Serious Looks,  Was But A Dull Person Of The Nun

Persuasion. And Miss Greeby Did Not Think That Lambert Cared For Nuns,

When He Had An Amazonian Intelligent Pal--So She Put It--At Hand. But,

Of Course,  He Might Prefer Dark Beauties Like Chaldea. Poor Miss Greeby;

She Was Pursuing Her Wooing Under Very Great Difficulties,  And Became

Silent In Order To Think Out Some Way Of Revoking In Some Natural

Manner The Information Of Her Departure.

 

There Were Other Women In The Room,  Who Joined In The Conversation,  And

All Were Glad To Hear That Mr. Lambert Intended To Pay A Visit To His

Cousin,  For,  Indeed,  The Young Man Was A General Favorite. And Then As

Two Or Three Decided--Mrs. Belgrove Amongst The Number--There Really

Could Be Nothing In The Report That He Loved Lady Agnes Still,  Else He

Would Scarcely Come And Stay Where She Was. As For Pine's Wife,  She Was

A Washed-Out Creature,  Who Had Never Really Loved Her Cousin As People

Had Thought. And After All,  Why Should She,  Since He Was So Poor,

Especially When She Was Married To A Millionaire With The Looks Of An

Eastern Prince,  And Manners Of Quite An Original Nature,  Although These

Were Not Quite Conventional. Oh,  Yes,  There Was Nothing In The Scandal

That Said Garvington Had Sold His Sister To Bolster Up The Family

Property. Lady Agnes Was Quite Happy,  And Her Husband Was A Dear Man,

Who Left Her A Great Deal To Her Own Devices--Which He Wouldn't Have

Done Had He Suspected The Cousin; And Who Gave Her Pots Of Money To

Spend. And What More Could A Sensible Woman Want?

 

In This Way Those In The Drawing-Room Babbled,  While Agnes Stared Into

The Fire,  Bracing Herself To Encounter Lambert,  Who Would Surely Arrive

Within The Next Two Or Three Days,  And While Miss Greeby Savagely

Rebuked Herself For Having So Foolishly Intimated Her Departure. Then

The Men Straggled In From Their Wine,  And Bridge Became The Order Of The

Night With Some,  While Others Begged For Music. After A Song Or So And

The Execution Of A Beethoven Sonata,  To Which No One Paid Any Attention,

A Young Lady Gave A Dance After The Manner Of Maud Allan,  To Which

Everyone Attended. Then Came Feats Of Strength,  In Which Miss Greeby

Proved Herself To Be A Female Sandow,  And Later A Number Of The Guests

Sojourned To The Billiard-Room To Play. When They Grew Weary Of That,

Tobogganing Down The Broad Staircase On Trays Was Suggested And Indulged

In Amidst Shrieks Of Laughter. Afterwards,  Those Heated By This

Chapter 8 (At Midnight) Pg 72

Horse-Play Strayed On To The Terrace To Breathe The Fresh Air,  And Flirt

In The Moonlight. In Fact,  Every Conceivable Way Of Passing The Time Was

Taken Advantage Of By These Very Bored People,  Who Scarcely Knew How To

Get Through The Long Evening.

 

"They Seem To Be Enjoying Themselves,  Freddy," Said Lady Garvington To

Her Husband,  When She Drifted Against Him In The Course Of Attending To

Her Guests. "I Really Think They Find This Jolly."

 

"I Don't Care A Red Copper What They Find," Retorted The Little Man,  Who

Was Looking Worried,  And Not Quite His Usual Self. "I Wish The Whole Lot

Would Get Out Of The House. I'm Sick Of Them."

 

"Ain't You Well,  Freddy? I Knew That Patagonian Soup Was Too Rich For

You."

 

"Oh,  The Soup Was All Right--Ripping Soup," Snorted Freddy,  Smacking His

Lips Over The Recollection. "But I'm Bothered Over Pine."

 

"He Isn't Ill,  Is He?" Questioned Lady Garvington Anxiously. She Liked

Her Brother-In-Law,  Who Was Always Kind To Her.

 

"No,  Hang Him; Nothing Worse Than His Usual Lung Trouble,  I Suppose. But

He Is In Paris,  And Won't Answer My Letters."

 

"Letters,  Freddy Dear."

 

"Yes,  Jane Dear," He Mocked. "Hang It,  I Want Money,  And He Won't Stump

Up. I Can't Even Get An Answer."

 

"Speak To Mr. Silver."

 

"Damn Mr. Silver!"

 

"Well,  I'm Sure,  Frederick,  You Needn't Swear At Me," Said Poor,  Wan

Lady Garvington,  Drawing Herself Up. "Mr. Silver Is Very Kind. He Went

To That Gypsy Camp And Found Out How They Cook Hedgehog. That Will Be A

New Dish For You,  Dear. You Haven't Eaten Hedgehog."

 

"No. And What's More,  I Don't Intend To Eat It. But You May As Well Tell

Me How These Gypsies Cook It," And Freddy Listened With Both His Red

Ears To The Description,  On Hearing Which He Decided That His Wife

Might Instruct The Cook How To Prepare The Animal. "But No One Will Eat

It But Me."

 

Lady Garvington Shuddered. "I Shan't Touch It Myself. Those Horrid

Snails You Insisted On Being Cooked A Week Ago Made Me Quite Ill. You

Are Always Trying New Experiments,  Freddy."

 

"Because I Get So Tired Of Every-Day Dishes," Growled Lord Garvington.

"These Cooks Have No Invention. I Wish I'd Lived In Rome When They Had

Chapter 8 (At Midnight) Pg 73

Those Banquets You Read Of In Gibbon."

 

"Did He Write A Book On Cookery?" Asked Lady Garvington Very Naturally.

 

"No. He Turned Out A Lot Of Dull Stuff About Wars And Migrations Of

Tribes: You Are Silly,  Jane."

 

"What's That About Migration Of Tribes?" Asked Mrs. Belgrove,  Who Was In

A Good Humor,  As She Had Won Largely At Bridge. "You Don't Mean Those

Dear Gypsies At Abbot's Wood Do You,  Lord Garvington? I Met One Of Them

The Other Day--Quite A Girl And Very Pretty In A Dark Way. She Told My

Fortune,  And Said That I Would Come In For A Lot Of Money. I'm Sure I

Hope So,"