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Wharton, Edith, 1862-1937

"The Custom of the Country"

"The sitting lasted longer than usual--there was something
about the dress he couldn't get--"
"But I thought he was giving a tea."
"He had tea afterward; he always does. And he asked some people in to
see my portrait. That detained me too. I didn't know they were coming,
and when they turned up I couldn't rush away. It would have looked as
if I didn't like the picture." She paused and they gave each other a
searching simultaneous glance. "Who told you it was a tea?" she asked.
"Clare Van Degen. I saw her at my mother's."
"So you weren't unconsoled after all--!"
"The nurse didn't get any message. My people were awfully disappointed;
and the poor boy has cried his eyes out."
"Dear me! What a fuss! But I might have known my message wouldn't be
delivered. Everything always happens to put me in the wrong with your
family."
With a little air of injured pride she started to go to her room; but he
put out a hand to detain her.
"You've just come from the studio?"
"Yes. It is awfully late? I must go and dress. We're dining with the
Ellings, you know."
"I know... How did you come? In a cab?"
She faced him limpidly. "No; I couldn't find one that would bring me--so
Peter gave me a lift, like an angel. I'm blown to bits. He had his open
car."
Her colour was still high, and Ralph noticed that her lower lip twitched
a little. He had led her to the point they had reached solely to be able
to say: "If you're straight from the studio, how was it that I saw you
coming down from Morningside?"
Unless he asked her that there would be no point in his
cross-questioning, and he would have sacrificed his pride without
a purpose.


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