It would be wrong not to loathe that man."
"He isn't clever, but really he is nice."
"No, Lucy, he stands for all that is bad in country life. In
London he would keep his place. He would belong to a brainless
club, and his wife would give brainless dinner parties. But down
here he acts the little god with his gentility, and his
patronage, and his sham aesthetics, and every one--even your
mother--is taken in."
"All that you say is quite true," said Lucy, though she felt
discouraged. "I wonder whether--whether it matters so very much."
"It matters supremely. Sir Harry is the essence of that
garden-party. Oh, goodness, how cross I feel! How I do hope he'll
get some vulgar tenant in that villa--some woman so really vulgar
that he'll notice it. GENTLEFOLKS! Ugh! with his bald head and
retreating chin! But let's forget him."
This Lucy was glad enough to do. If Cecil disliked Sir Harry
Otway and Mr. Beebe, what guarantee was there that the people
who really mattered to her would escape? For instance, Freddy.
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