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🎮 They were passing a lamp. Joan had never seen a face look quite so happy as Mary’s looked, just then. In quiet streets of stately houses, she caught glimpses through uncurtained windows of richly-laid dinner-tables about which servants moved noiselessly, arranging flowers and silver. She wondered idly if she would every marry. A gracious hostess, gathering around her brilliant men and women, statesmen, writers, artists, captains of industry: counselling them, even learning from them: encouraging shy genius. Perhaps, in a perfectly harmless way, allowing it the inspiration derivable from a well-regulated devotion to herself. A salon that should be the nucleus of all those forces that influence influences, over which she would rule with sweet and wise authority. The idea appealed to her.!

🏆 “I want you to get used to it,” she said. “It’s part of your work. Put your brain into it, and don’t be afraid.” Folk had been right. He was not offended. “Dear old chap,” he said. “That was kind of him. He was always generous.”!

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