Alex, touched his heart. Or perhaps because of late he had lost the ability to speak any longer in euphemisms and half-truths. It was gone along with his physical stamina, and the sense of well-being he had enjoyed throughout his youth.
Now his joints hurt more and more with every passing winter; and he could not walk half a mile any longer in the country without suffering a severe pain in his chest. He did not mind having white hair at fifty-five, perhaps because he knew he looked rather good with it. But it bruised him secretly and deeply to have to use a cane wherever he went. These were all mere shadows, however, of what was yet to come.
Old age, weakness, dependence. Pray that Alex was happily married to the Stratford millions, and not before too long!
He felt restless, suddenly; dissatisfied. The soft swooshing music annoyed him; sick to death of Strauss, actually. But it was something keener.
He wanted to explain it suddenly to Randolph, that he, Elliott, had made some crucial mistake a long time ago. Something to do with those long nights in Egypt, when he and Lawrence would walk through the black streets of Cairo together, or rail at each other drunkenly in the little saloon of the boat. Lawrence
had somehow managed to live his life along heroic proportions; he had accomplished things of which others were simply incapable. Elliott had moved with the current. Lawrence had escaped to Egypt, back to the desert, the temples, to those clear star-filled nights.
God, how he missed Lawrence. In the last three years they had exchanged only a handful of letters, but the old understanding would never grow dim.
"Henry took some papers with him," Randolph said," small matter of family stock." He glanced about warily, too warily. Elliott was going to laugh again.
"If it goes as I hope," Randolph continued," I'll pay you everything I owe you, and the marriage will take place within six months, I give you my word." Elliott smiled.
"Randolph, the marriage may or may not happen; it may or may not solve things for both of us - " "Don't say mat, old boy."
"But I must have that twenty thousand pounds before Edith comes home,"
"Precisely, Elliott, precisely."
"You know, you might say no to your son once hi a while." A deep sigh came from Randolph. Elliott didn't press it. He knew as well as anyone did that Henry's deterioration was no joke any longer; it had nothing to do with sowing wild oats, or going through a rough period. There was something thoroughly rotten in Henry Stratford and there always had been. There was very little that was rotten in Randolph. And so it was a tragedy; and Elliott, who loved his own son, Alex, excessively, had only sympathy for Randolph on that score.
More assurances; a positive din of assurance. You'll get your twenty thousand pounds. But Elliott wasn't listening. He was watching the dancers again - his good and gentle son whispering passionately to Julie, whose face wore that look of determination that flattered her for reasons that Elliott could never fully understand.
Some women must smile to be beautiful. Some women must weep. But with Julie, the real radiance shone only when she was serious - perhaps because her eyes were too softly brown otherwise, her mouth too guileless, her porcelain cheeks too smooth.
Fired with determination, she was a vision. And Alex, for all
his breeding, and all his proffered passion, seemed no more than **a partner" for her; one of a thousand elegant young men who might have guided her across the marble floor.
ft was the" Morning Papers Waltz" and Julie loved it; she had always loved it. There came back to her now a faint memory of dancing once to the" Morning Papers Waltz" with her father. Was ft when they had first brought home the gramophone, and they had danced all through the Egyptian room and the library and the drawing rooms - she and Father - until the light came through the shutters, and he had said:
"Oh, my dear, no more. No more."
Now the music made her drowsy and almost sad. And Alex kept talking to her, telling her in one way or another that he loved her, and mere was that panic inside her, that fear of speaking harsh or cold words.
"And if you want to live in Egypt," Alex said breathlessly," and dig for mummies with your father, well then, we'll