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Voluminous amber
draperies shrouded the windows, and deadened the sound of rolling wheels,
and the voices and footfalls of western London. The drawing rooms of those
days were neither artistic nor picturesque--neither Early English nor Low
Dutch, nor Renaissance, nor Anglo-Japanese. A stately commonplace
distinguished the reception rooms of the great world. Upholstery stagnated
at a dead level of fluted legs, gilding, plate glass, and amber satin.
Lady Denyer stood a little way in advance of the group on the hearthrug,
fanning herself, with her eye on the door, while she listened languidly
to the remarks of a youthful diplomatist, a sprig of a lordly tree, upon
the last _debut_ at Her Majesty's Theatre.
'My own idea was that she screamed,' said her ladyship. 'But the new
Rosinas generally do scream. Why do we have a new Rosina every year,
whom nobody ever hears of afterwards? What becomes of them? Do they die,
or do they set up as singing mistresses in second-rate watering-places?'
hazarded her ladyship, with her eye always on the door.


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