You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. CHAPTER XXXII. Quite trying of him not to be there when he is wanted. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. Some of them are now buried at the bottom of the Thames. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. So it would always be between herself and Manning.
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