The dinner had dragged; the guests had left early;
and he had come back to the drawing-room after seeing off the last of
them, stifled with yawns. Waste of food, waste of money, waste of
time--waste of everything! He had suddenly been seized with a passionate
sense of the dulness of his home life; with a wonder how long he could
go on submitting to it. And as he recalled these feelings--as of dust
in the mouth--there struck across them an image from a dream-world.
Diana sat at the head of the long table; Diana in white, with her
slender neck, and the blue eyes, with their dear short-sighted look, her
smile, and the masses of her dark hair. The dull faces on either side
faded away; the lights, the flowers were for her--for her alone!
He roused himself with an effort. His mother was putting up her
knitting, which, indeed, she had only pretended to work at.
"We must go and dress, Oliver. Oh! I forgot to tell you--Alicia arrived
an hour ago."
"Ah!" He raised his eyebrows indifferently. "I hope she's well?"
"Brilliantly well--and as handsome as ever."
"Any love-affairs?"
"Several, apparently--but nothing suitable," said Lady Lucy, with a
smile, as she rose and gathered together her possessions.
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