E. Nesbit

“ The long cab-drive back to Bloomsbury held space for the thoughts she had put aside, but she would not look at them yet. She would go through the rest of the day deaf and blind to the voice and the eyes that were waiting for her to listen and look. At night, when the others were asleep. Till then she would not.
As the cab swung into Fitzroy Street a man stepped out of a doorway, with hat raised and hand that signalled. She rattled the trap above her head, that the cabman should stop. ”

“ I’ve hardly seen anything of his, but I like the ones I have seen.”
“He must be pretty good if his work’s going to count for anything beside Vorontzoff’s,” said St. Hilary—“or perhaps our excellent Russian wants a foil.”
“I didn’t think you were like that,” said Daphne, simply.
“I’m not, of course,” St. Hilary obligingly explained. “Do you never say things just to annoy other people?”
“No,” said Daphne—“at least——”
“Exactly,” said he, “so you understand. Look here, princess, all the green chestnut dreams are shattered to bits, scattered to the winds. It’s all over. ”

“ Hilary, who had risen.
“Mr. Henry, Mr. St. Hilary,” said Daphne. “Mr. Vorontzoff has gone out to get lunch.”
The two men exchanged guarded bows.
“Queer little place, this of Vorontzoff’s,” said Henry, conversationally.
“Delightful,” said St. Hilary, conventionally.
“There will be a picnic after all,” said Henry; “meals in studios are always rather like picnics, aren’t they?”
“I’m afraid I have no experience,” said St. Hilary.
“Have you any experience yet, Miss Carmichael?” he asked, and she wondered why, since it was at a studio supper that he had first met her. ”

“ This gift of being able to put aside, at will, the troubling things of life, laying them apart till a more convenient season, not cowardly, shrinking from them, but bravely holding them for a time at arm’s length, this gift is one of the best that the gods bestow. ”

“ Daphne told herself, “but thank heaven he isn’t all over charcoal today. There’s always something to be thankful for.” She felt, somehow, suddenly, less wretched. Henry was here, at any rate. To be where he was was already enough to change the colour of the world. She gave up the attempt to draw him into the conversation, and talked with St. Hilary of the school and the girls and a thousand little things that Henry knew not of. ”

“ Hilary who answered it.
“There were wonderful doings at the Distribution des Prix,” he said. “I was invited, with monsieur, of course. Your friend Miss Columbine got all the first prizes except those that Madeleine got. I knew Miss Carmichael when she was at school,” he made himself say, for Daphne’s sake.
“You were fortunate,” said Henry, in tones that robbed the words of all meaning.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Daphne—“the prizes I mean,” she was silly enough to add. “Madame always gives heaps of first prizes to the girls who are leaving. She thinks it makes other parents send their girls. ”

“ Hilary had much to tell of the school, of Columbine, of Madeleine.
“How did I come to know her? Oh, I sent a note by Marie Thibault, asking for an assignation.”
“In the chestnut?” Daphne asked.
“Where else? And your friend came. We met many times to talk of our absent friends. An inexhaustible subject, is it not, Monsieur Vorontzoff? Also she told me secrets, swearing me to secrecy. My tongue itches to tell them, Miss Carmichael, but my lips are sealed.”
“Secrets?”
“Ah, that intrigues you. She insisted that she herself must tell you. She writes often, doesn’t she?” ”

“ If only Vorontzoff would come back. Suppose his Russian discreetness should prolong itself for hours and hours. How was she to get away? She tucked her bare feet more carefully under her chair and hoped that no one had noticed the brown shoes drying on the hearth.
“Mr. Vorontzoff and Mr. Henry are going to have an exhibition in the autumn,” she told St. Hilary.
“I am sure it will be very interesting.”
“I am afraid not to the ordinary person,” Henry could not help saying.
“Mr. St. Hilary admires Mr. Vorontzoff’s work very much,” Daphne went on laboriously; “he has bought two of his pictures.” ”