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He spoke almost with distaste. However, perceiving that I felt uncertain as to the precise
meaning of this explanation of Eleanor’s existing state, he added curtly:
‘Labradors.’
‘Like Sultan?’
‘After Sultan died she took to breeding them. And then she sees quite a lot of her friend,
Norah Tolland.’
By common consent we abandoned the subject of Eleanor. Taking my arm, he led me across
the floor of the gallery, until we stood in front of a three-quarter-length picture of a grey-
moustached man in the uniform of the diplomatic corps; looking, if the truth be known, not unlike
Sir Gavin himself.
watch8.html ‘Isn’t it terrible?’
‘Awful.’
‘It’s Saltonstall,’ said Sir Gavin, his voice suggesting that some just retribution had taken
place. ‘Saltonstall who always posed as a Man of Taste.’
‘Isbister has made him look more like a Christmas Tree of Taste.’
‘You see, my father-in-law’s portrait is a different matter,’ said Sir Gavin, as if unable to
withdraw his eyes from this likeness of his former colleague. ‘There is no parallel at all. My father-
in-law was painted by Isbister, it is true. Isbister was what he liked. He possessed a large collection
of thoroughly bad pictures which we had some difficulty in disposing watch3.html of at his death. He bought
them simply and solely because he liked the subjects. He knew about shipping and finance—not
about painting. But he did not pose as a Man of Taste. Far from it.’
‘Deacon’s Boyhood of Cyrus in the hall at Eaton Square is from his collection, isn’t it?’
I could not help mentioning this picture that had once meant so much to me and to name the
dead is always a kind of tribute to them: one I felt sitemap.xml Mr. Deacon deserved.
‘I believe so,’ said Sir Gavin. ‘It sounds his index.html style. But Saltonstall, on the other hand, with his
vers de societé, and all his talk about Foujita and Pruna and goodness knows who else—but when
it comes to his own portrait, it’s Isbister. Let’s see how they have hung my father-in-law.’
We passed on to Lord 腕時計 レディース Aberavon’s portrait, removed from its usual place in the dining-room at
Hinton Hoo, now flanked by Sir Horrocks Rusby, K.C., and Cardinal Whelan. Lady Walpole-
Wilson’s father had been painted in peer’s robes over the uniform of a deputy-lieutenant, different
tones of scarlet contrasted against a crimson velvet curtain: a pictorial experiment that could not be
considered successful. Through french windows behind Lord Aberavon stretched a broad
landscape—possibly the vale of Glamorgan—in which something had also rakuten5 gone seriously wrong
with the colour values. Even Isbister himself, in his own lifetime, キャンパス スニーカー must have been aware of
deficiency.
I glanced at the cardinal next door, notable as the only picture I had ever heard Widmerpool
spontaneously praise. Here, too, the reds had been handled with some savagery. Sir Gavin shook
his head and moved on to examine two of Isbister’s genre pictures. ‘Clergyman eating an apple’
and ‘The Old Humorists’. I found myself beside Clapham, a director of the firm that published St.
John Clarke’s novels. He was talking to Smethyck, a museum official I had known slightly at the
university.

第 55 页 共 117 页
rakuten202 http://www.en8848.com.cn/ 原版英语阅读网
‘When is your book on Isbister appearing?’ Clapham asked at once. ‘You announced it some
time ago. This would have been the moment—with the St. John Clarke introduction.’
Clapham had spoken accusingly, his voice implying the fretfulness of all publishers that one
of their authors should betray them with a colleague, however lightly.
‘I went to see St. John Clarke the other day,’ Clapham continued. ‘I was glad to find him
making a good recovery after his illness. Found him reading one of the young Communist poets.
We had an interesting talk.’
‘Does anybody read St. John Clarke himself now?’ asked Smethyck, languidly.
Like watch166.html many of his profession, Smethyck was rather proud of his watch110.html looks, which he had been
carefully re-examining in the dark, mirror-like surface of Sir Horrocks Rusby, framed for some
unaccountable reason under glass. Clapham was up in arms at once at such superciliousness.
‘Of course rakuten400 people read St. John Clarke,’ he said, snappishly. ‘Though perhaps not in your
ultra-sophisticated circles, where everything ordinary people understand is sneered at.’
‘Personally, I don’t hold any views about St. John Clarke,’ said Smethyck, without looking
round. ‘I’ve never read any of them. All I wanted to know was whether people bought his books.’
He continued to ponder the cut of his suit in this adventitious looking-glass, deciding at last
that his hair needed smoothing down on one side.
‘I don’t mind admitting to you both,’ said Clapham, moving a step or two closer and speaking
rather thickly, ‘that when I finished Fields of Amaranth there were tears in my eyes.’
Smethyck made no reply to this; nor could I myself think of a suitable rejoinder.
‘That was some years ago,’ said Clapham.
This qualification left open the alternative of whether St. John Clarke still retained the power
of exciting such strong feeling in a publisher, or whether Clapham himself watch100.html had grown more
capable of controlling his emotions.
‘Why, there’s Sillery,’ sneaker62.html said Smethyck, watch98 who seemed thoroughly bored by the subject of St.
John Clarke. ‘I believe he was to be painted by Isbister, if he had recovered. Let’s go and talk to
him.’
We left Clapham, shop25.html still muttering about the extent of St. John Clarke’s sales, and the beauty
and delicacy of his early style. I had not seen Sillery since Mrs. Andriadis’s party, three or four
years before, though I had heard by chance that he had recently returned from America, where, he
had held some temporary academical post, or been on a lecture tour. His whit