At fifty-five, Georgina Kirkbank told herself sadly enough that her day,
as a bright particular star, all-sufficient in her own radiance, was
gone. She could not live without her masculine circle, men who could
bring her all the news, the gossip of the clubs; where everything seemed
to become known as quickly as if each club had its own Asmodeus,
unroofing all the housetops of the West End for inspection every night.
She could not live without her courtiers; and to keep them about her she
knew that she must make her house pleasant. It was not enough to give
good dinners, elegant little suppers washed down by choicest wines; she
must also provide fair faces to smile upon the feast, and bright eyes to
sparkle in the subdued light of low shaded lamps, and many candles
twinkling under coloured shades.
'I am an old woman now,' Lady Kirkbank said to herself with a sigh, 'and
my own attractions won't keep my friends about me. _C'est trop connu
ca_.'
And now the house in Arlington Street in which feminine guests had been
as one in ten, opened its doors to the young and the fair.
Pages:
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454