Chapter IV

           

           NoonewaskindertomeatthattimethanRoseWaterford.Shecombinedamasculineintelligencewithafeminineperversity,andthenovelsshewrotewereoriginalanddisconcerting.ItwasatherhouseonedaythatImetCharlesStrickland’swife.MissWaterfordwasgivingatea-party,andhersmallroomwasmorethanusuallyfull.Everyoneseemedtobetalking,andI,sittinginsilence,feltawkward;butIwastooshytobreakintoanyofthegroupsthatseemedabsorbedintheirownaffairs.MissWaterfordwasagoodhostess,andseeingmyembarrassmentcameuptome.

           "IwantyoutotalktoMrs.Strickland,"shesaid."She’sravingaboutyourbook."

           "Whatdoesshedo?"Iasked.

           Iwasconsciousofmyignorance,andifMrs.Stricklandwasawell-knownwriterIthoughtitaswelltoascertainthefactbeforeIspoketoher.

           RoseWaterfordcastdownhereyesdemurelytogivegreatereffecttoherreply.

           "Shegivesluncheon-parties.You’veonlygottoroaralittle,andshe’llaskyou."

           RoseWaterfordwasacynic.Shelookeduponlifeasanopportunityforwritingnovelsandthepublicasherrawmaterial.Nowandthensheinvitedmembersofittoherhouseiftheyshowedanappreciationofhertalentandentertainedwithproperlavishness.Sheheldtheirweaknessforlionsingood-humouredcontempt,butplayedtothemherpartofthedistinguishedwomanofletterswithdecorum.

           IwasleduptoMrs.Strickland,andfortenminuteswetalkedtogether.Inoticednothingaboutherexceptthatshehadapleasantvoice.

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