I longed for tea.
While they are all very kind here, there is that asphyxiating atmosphere
of stiffness and decorum which affects every one who comes to Tryland. A
sort of "the gold must be tried by fire and the heart must be wrung by
pain" kind of suggestion about everything.
They are extraordinarily cheerful, because it is a Christian virtue,
cheerfulness; not because they are brimming over with joy, or that lovely
feeling of being alive and not minding much what happens, you feel so
splendid, like I get on fine days.
Everything they do has a reason, or a moral, in it. This party is because
pheasants have to be killed in November, and certain people have to be
entertained, and their charities can be assisted through them. Oh, if I
had a big house, and were rich, I would have lovely parties, with all
sorts of nice people, because I wanted to give them a good time and laugh
myself. Lady Verningham was talking to me just before tea, when the second
train-load arrived.
I tried to be quite indifferent, but I did feel dreadfully excited when
Lord Robert walked in. Oh, he looked such a beautiful creature, so smart,
and straight, and lithe!
Lady Katherine was frightfully stiff with him; it would have discouraged
most people, but that is the lovely part about Lord Robert, he is always
absolutely _sans gene_!
He saw me at once, of course, and came over as straight as a die the
moment he could.
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