Театр

           Shewasn’tgoingtolethimthinkthatbecausehewasalordandshewasanactresshehadonlytobeckonandshewouldhopintobedwithhim.Ifhetriedthatsortofthingshe’dplaytheoutragedtieroineonhim,withtheoutflungarmandtheindexextendedinthesameline,asJaneTaitbouthadtaughttiertomakethegesture,pointedatthedoor.Ontheotherhandifhewasshatteredandtongue-tied,she’dbeilltremulousherself,sobsinthevoiceandallthat,andshe’dsayithadneverdawnedonherthathefeltlikethatabouther,andno,no,itwouldbreakMichael’sleart.They’dhaveagoodcrytogetherandtheneverythingwouldbeallright.Withhisbeautifulmannersshecouldcountuponhimnotmakinganuisanceofhimselfwhenshehadoncegotitintohisheadthattherewasnothingdoing.Butwhenithappeneditdidnotturnoutintheleastasshehadexpected.CharlesTamerleyandJuliahadbeenforawalkinSt.James’sPark,theyhadlookedatthepelicans,andthescenesuggestingit,theyhaddiscussedthepossibilityofherplayingMillamantonaSundayevening.TheywentbacktoJulia’sflattohaveacupoftea.Theysharedacrumpet.*ThenCharlesgotuptogo.Hetookaminiatureoutofhispocketandgaveittoher.

           "It’saportraitofClairon.Shewasaneighteenth-centuryactressandshehadmanyofyourgifts."

           Julialookedatthepretty,cleverface,withthepowderedhair,andwonderedwhetherthestonesthatframedthelittlepicturewerediamondsoronlypaste.

           "Oh,Charles,howcanyou!Youaresweet."