The house, the grounds, they were all left
to me when my father died. She was given her legacy in a round sum--not
very round either. He wasn't particularly well off. Whatever it was,
at any rate, it meant little or nothing to her. The house--the
property--they were the only things worth having. I was the eldest
son--I got 'em. P'raps this bores you?"
She shook her head firmly--an emphatic negative. "How could you
possibly think that?"
"Well, anyhow," he continued, "she was disappointed. She's
become--since she married--a woman to whom social power is a jewelled
sceptre. Before then, she was what you see in that miniature--a
little bit of a child with a pretty face that wanted kissing--and
got it. Got it from me as well as others. I was fond of her, even
after she married this man--a soldier; he's in the Guards, and after
dinner sometimes thinks he has an eye to the situation in politics.
Even after that, when she began to lift her head so that you couldn't
kiss her and wouldn't have wanted to if you could, I was fond of her.
But I hate society--I wouldn't come to her crushes--I wouldn't go
to her dinners. These things sicken me. They're as empty as an echo.
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