For a moment, indeed, he had had a glimpse of a
clear sky. A woman, who seemed to have the same kind of business
faculty that many Frenchwomen possess, had laid hands on his skein
of troubles, and might have unravelled them. But she had thrown him
over. In a little while he would have to let Mannering--for who
would buy an estate in such a pickle?--sell his collections, and go
and live in a flat in West Kensington. Then he hoped his
enemies--Chicksands in particular--would be satisfied.
But these, to do him justice, were not the chief thoughts, not the
considerations in his mind that smarted most. Another woman
secretary or woman accountant--for, after all, clever women with
business training are now as thick as blackberries--might have
helped him to put his affairs straight; but she would not have been
a Miss Bremerton, with her scholarship, her taste, her love of the
beautiful things that he loved. He seemed to see her fair skin
flushing with pleasure as they went through a Greek chorus together,
or to watch her tenderly handling a bronze, or holding a Tanagra
figure to the light.
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