G. & L. Lorimer: The Photographic Studio
and in the doorway was displayed a showcase, whose most conspicuous feature was a cabinet portrait of Fred Devonshire, looking, with an air of mingled archness and shamefacedness, through one of his own elaborate lattices in Virginia cork.
The Maryons surveyed these preparations from afar with a certain amused compassion, an incredulous kindliness, which were rather exasperating.
Like most people of their class, they had seen too much of the ups and downs of life to be astonished at anything; and the sight of these ladies playing at photographers and house decorators, was only one more scene in the varied and curious drama of life which it was their lot to witness.
"I wish," said Gertrude, one day, "that Mrs. Maryon were not such a pessimist."
"She is rather like Gilbert's patent hag who comes out and prophesies disaster," answered Phyllis. "She always thinks it is going to rain, and nothing surprises her so much as when a parcel arrives in time."
"And she is so very kind with it all."
The sisters had been alone in Baker Street that morning; Constance being engaged in having a ball-dress tried on at Russell and Allen's; and now Gertrude was about to set out for the British Museum, where she was going through a course of photographic reading, under the direction of Mr. Russel.
"Look," cried Phyllis, as they emerged from the house; "there goes Conny's impetuous friend. I have found out that he lodges just opposite us, over the auctioneer's."