There were draped
mirrors over all the mantels, and above the sideboard in the dining-room
in which we sat at tea was a portrait of her father, villainously
truthful after the manner of such works. I couldn't see a trace of the
beauty I found in her in either parent, yet she somehow contrived to be
like them both.
These people pretended in a way that reminded me of the Three Great
Women in my mother's room, but they had not nearly so much social
knowledge and did not do it nearly so well. Also, I remarked, they did
it with an eye on Marion. They had wanted to thank me, they said, for
the kindness to their daughter in the matter of the 'bus fare, and so
accounted for anything unusual in their invitation. They posed as simple
gentlefolk, a little hostile to the rush and gadding-about of London,
preferring a secluded and unpretentious quiet.
When Marion got out the white table-cloth from the sideboard-drawer for
tea, a card bearing the word "APARTMENTS" fell to the floor. I picked it
up and gave it to her before I realised from her quickened colour that I
should not have seen it; that probably had been removed from the window
in honour of my coming.
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