The Romantic Woman (Classic Reprint)
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|Excerpt from The Romantic Woman
It was in the middle of dinner at Saracens on the tenth of September two years ago. They were on their way home, the four Americans, and in two separate couples had descended on us, all dreadfully unaware of the surprise in store for them, the surprise of finding each other. Ruffles had been safely staring at Phyllis and Louise for some moments through the branching candelabra. He ended his scrutiny by wickedly rolling his eyes in my direction and saying with more than usual insolence:
"How well you imitate us."
"And how hard we try," I murmured, saying with fatal promptitude what was bitterly in my mind.
"What's that?" growled Jim.
Ruffles is accusing us of imitating his own, that is, their own decadence - "
"Oh, I say!" put in Ruffles deprecatingly, cocking an eyebrow.
Jim glared. I expected him to defend his nation, but he was unlike himself that night.
"Only the women," he brought out after a pause with defiant brutality, daring me to snub him for his bad taste in criticizing his wife.
"Yes, I meant the women."
And then they fixed each other with an animosity that seemed to suggest the stirring of dangerous depths.
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