<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><span> </span> <span>XXXV.</span></h2>
<p>Mrs Jehoram and the Angel (apart)—Mr Wilmerdings playing.</p>
<p>"I have so longed for a quiet word with you," said Mrs Jehoram in a low
tone. "To tell you how delightful I found your playing."</p>
<p>"I am glad it pleased you," said the Angel.</p>
<p>"Pleased is scarcely the word," said Mrs Jehoram. "I was
moved—profoundly. These others did not understand.... I was glad you
did not play with him."</p>
<p>The Angel looked at the mechanism called Wilmerdings, and felt glad too.
(The Angelic conception of duets is a kind of conversation upon
violins.) But he said nothing.</p>
<p>"I worship music," said Mrs Jehoram. "I know nothing about it
technically, but there is something in it—a longing, a wish...."</p>
<p>The Angel stared at her face. She met his eyes.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"You understand," she said. "I see you understand." He was certainly a
very nice boy, sentimentally precocious perhaps, and with deliciously liquid eyes.</p>
<p>There was an interval of Chopin (Op. 40) played with immense precision.</p>
<p>Mrs Jehoram had a sweet face still, in shadow, with the light falling
round her golden hair, and a curious theory flashed across the Angel's
mind. The perceptible powder only supported his view of something
infinitely bright and lovable caught, tarnished, coarsened, coated over.</p>
<p>"Do you," said the Angel in a low tone. "Are you ... separated from ...
<i>your</i> world?"</p>
<p>"As you are?" whispered Mrs Jehoram.</p>
<p>"This is so—cold," said the Angel. "So harsh!" He meant the whole world.</p>
<p>"I feel it too," said Mrs Jehoram, referring to Siddermorton Home.</p>
<p>"There are those who cannot live without sympathy," she said after a
sympathetic pause. "And times when one feels alone in the world.
Fighting a battle against it all. Laughing, flirting, hiding the pain of it...."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"And hoping," said the Angel with a wonderful glance.—"Yes."</p>
<p>Mrs Jehoram (who was an epicure of flirtations) felt the Angel was more
than redeeming the promise of his appearance. (Indisputably he
worshipped her.) "Do <i>you</i> look for sympathy?" she said. "Or have you found it?"</p>
<p>"I think," said the Angel, very softly, leaning forward, "I think I have found it."</p>
<p>Interval of Chopin Op. 40. The very eldest Miss Papaver and Mrs
Pirbright whispering. Lady Hammergallow (glasses up) looking down the
saloon with an unfriendly expression at the Angel. Mrs Jehoram and the
Angel exchanging deep and significant glances.</p>
<p>"Her name," said the Angel (Mrs Jehoram made a movement) "is Delia. She
is...."</p>
<p>"Delia!" said Mrs Jehoram sharply, slowly realising a terrible
misunderstanding. "A fanciful name.... Why!... No! Not that little
housemaid at the Vicarage—?..."</p>
<p>The Polonaise terminated with a flourish. The Angel was quite surprised
at the change in Mrs Jehoram's expression.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"<i>I never</i> did!" said Mrs Jehoram recovering. "To make me your
confidant in an intrigue with a servant. Really Mr Angel it's possible
to be too original...."</p>
<p>Then suddenly their colloquy was interrupted.</p>
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