Evening star., 1911-08-20
Chapter XIII. Good Fishing


r CLOCK struck nine. Mrs. Cheyne lowered
A the volume of Shaw's plays the
NSMFN pages Of which she had made pre-
N@AN tense OF reading and froWned at the
NRMo corner OF the rug She now wore
IANON house gown of clinging material,
- & & !:
IAZA&A whose coors changed from bronze to
kYIl01NW4 purple in the shadow of the oil lamps.
MlgG|MI 1t fitted her slim figure closely like
W9G|W chain mail. and shimmered softly
WAHU like the skin of dusky chameleon.
WY Mrs. Cheyne was fond of uncertain
"a N<A O. colors in a low key, and her hour
~ - was in the dim twilight, which lent
Illusions stimulated the imagination
QkO to perception of the meaning of
shadows,-softened shadows which
hung round her eyes and mouth, which by day
merely lines little bitter little hard little cynical
Mrs Cheynes effects all planned with exquisite
the amber coored shades, the warmish rug and
scarlet table cover the Chinese Mandarin robe her
piano. the azaleas in the yellow pots,-al were part
of her color scheme, to which she had given much
thought Her great wealth had not spoiled her taste
for simplicity The objects her table and man.
teshef few but choice, and their arrangement,
each with reference to the other showed artistry
that had learned something from Japan -
She hated ugliness Beauty was Her fetish. The one
great of her life the knowledge that her own
face merely pretty but the Slight irregulanty OF
her features somewhat condoned for this misfortune,
and she had last succeeded in convincing herself that
the of beauty lay rather in what it suggested
than in what it revealed Nature, by way of atonng
for not making each feature perfect had endowed them
all with kind of protean mobility, and her mind wtha
genius for suggestion, which she had brought to high
degree of usefulness Without therefore being beautiful
at ALL she gave the impression of beauty and she
oced in the reputation she possessed OF being marked
Dangerous
She had rejoced in it. moreover, because she had
been that, matter how dangerous she might
prove to be with Others with herself she had not been
dangerous The kind of romance the kind OF sentiment,
in which she nulged she had to regard highly
specialized art in which she Past Grand Mistress.
She loved them for their sake She was fisher of
men; but shed only for the love OF fishing and 1t was
her pleasure while her victims still wr1thed to unhook
them as tendery as might be and let them flap ungrace
fully back into their element. Her 1ybook curl
osity and of infinite variety lzaak Walton says that
trout bite mot for hunger but wantonness. R1ta
Cheyne of the opinion that men bit tor similar
and so She whipped the social streams ruhessy
for the of the game matching her Skill to the
indifference Of her quarry, her artistry to their vehe
A ND now she suddenly discovered that she must
= throw her hvbook away She had tried them all
the Silver Doctor the White Moth the Brown Hackle,
and all to purpose. Her fish had risen; but he
would bite. She fishing in unfamiliar waters,
deeper waters, where there hidden currents she
could not understand. The tackle she had used when
fishing for others would not serve for Jeff Wray.
1t provoked her that her Subtlety was OF no avail;
for she had the fishers contempt for heavy tackle.
And yet she realized that only heavy tackle that
would land him. He was the only man who had really
interested her years and his conquest matter
of pride with her. She had other reasons too His wife
was beautiful. Rita Cheyne merely artistic. Vic
tory that Beauty only incident; that Art,
after all, immortal The theory of whole lifetime
needed vindicaton.
When Wray entered she deep in "You Never Can
Tell but looked up her visitor slowly and extended
a languid hand
Aren't you early?7 she asked, slipping marker in
the pages of her book and closing 1t slowly.
mo, don't think | thought was late. | was
detained"
She held up her hand protest. Il really hoping