“But remember, my son, I am determined that I will not be patronized in my own house by your friend the duke.”
“Oh! he won’t try to,” said Jim, airily. “He’s a very civil old soul, the same as you are, my dear, although his circumstances are rather better.”
“I won’t be patronized by that Goose either,” said Jim’s mother, with tremendous spirit.
“You run no danger in that quarter,” said Jim. “It will be as much as ever she can do adequately to patronize the strawberries and cream.”
“And who, pray, is the accomplished Miss Burden? I will not be patronized by her either.”
“I won’t answer for you there, señora. You might get short shift from that quarter.”
“We shall see, my son,” said Jim’s mother, with an air almost of truculence.
The back sitting-room at the Acacias was really a very mediocre affair. It contained so little furniture that it was made to look half as large again as it actually was. The small room was cool and tasteful if, perhaps, somewhat too obviously simple and inexpensive. It contained not a single reminiscence of bygone grandeur. For one thing, the crash had been rather in the nature of a holocaust; and again, an opulent past is a poor sort of aid to a penurious present.
The walls were decorated by a blue wash and by a single picture, a study by Monsieur Gillet for his enchanting “La Dame au Gant.” It had been given by that master to a young English pupil of whom he was extremely fond. It held the bare walls all by itself. Jim was a little vain about it. Then there was a little shelf of books. It comprised five novels by Turgenev, two by Stendhal, three by Anatole France, four by Meredith, three by Henry James, two volumes of Heine, the lyrics of Victor Hugo, two plays of D’Annunzio, and a volume of Baudelaire. There were two bowls of roses also, which Jim had procured for his mother in honor of the occasion.
At a quarter to four Mrs. Lascelles sat reading “Pêcheur d’Islande” for the thirteenth time. She looked very cool and dainty in a simple black dress, embellished with still simpler white muslin. Her look of youth had never been quite so aggressive; and in Jim’s opinion her wise little smile of tempered gayety was perfectly irresistible.