The Duchess Of Wrexe - Her Decline And Death, A Romantic Commentary

THE DUCHESS OF WREXE HER DECLINE AND DEATH A ROrMA NTIC COMMENTA R Y BY HUGH WALP0I. - 1930 - CONTENTS BOOK I THE DUCHESS CRAP . I . FEI. IX BRUN. DR . CHRISTOPHERR. A CHEL - THEY ARE SURVEYED BY THE PORTRAIT V11 . IN THE HEART O F THE HOUSE . . . VIII. THETIBER. . . . . . . IX . THE GOLDENC AGE . . . . . X . LIZZIE A ND BRETON . . . . . XI . HER GRACESD AY . . . . . XI1 . DEFIANCE O F THE TIGER-I . . . . XI11 . DEFIANCE O F THE TIGER-11 . . . . BOOK I1 RACHEL I . TIIE POOL A ND THE SNOW . . . . . . . 139 11 . A LITTLEH OUSE . . . . . . . . 14 8 111 . FIRSTS EQUEL TO DEFIANCE . . . . . . 160 vii ... VI l THE DUCHESS OF WREXE CRAP . IV . RACHEL-AN CHRISTOPHE A R N D ROD . Y . . . V . LIZZIESJ OU NEY . - I . . . . . . . . V1 . ALL THE BEAMINSTERS . . . . . . . V11 R- CHE A L N D BRXTON . ., . . . . . V111 . CHRIS. OPHEDRASY . . . . . . . . IX . THE DARKESTH OUR . . . . . . . . X . LIZZIESJ OURNEY-I1 . . . . . . . XI . Itonny rs MASTER . . . . . . . . XI1 . LIZZIEJSO URNEY-111 . . . . . . . . RODDY VI . MARCH1 3 R O D DY T ALKS TO PIIE DEVIL AND THE DUCHES D ENIES GOI . . . . V11 . CHAMBER I USIC-AT RIO . . . . . . . V111 . A QUARTETTE . . . . . . . . . IX . RACHEL A ND RODDY . . . . . . . . BOOK I THE DUCI-IESS CHAPTER I FELIX BRUN, DR. CHRISTOPHER, RACHEL BEAMINSTEE THEY ARE SURVEYED BY THE PORTRAIT I FELIX BRUN, perched like a little bird on the steps of the Rede Art Gallery, gazed up and down Bond Street, with his sharp eyes for some one to whom he might show Yale Rosss portrait of the Duchess of Wrexe. The afternoon was warm, the date May of the year 1898, and the occasion was the Young Portrait Painters first show with Rosss Duchess as its principal attraction Brun was, thrilled withexcitement, with emotion, and he must have his audience. There must be somebody to whom he might talk, to whom he might explain exactly why this occasion was of so stirring an importance. His eyes lighted with satisfaction. Coming towards him was a tall, gaunt man with a bronzed face, loose ill-fitting clothes, a stride that had little of the town about it. This was Arkwright, the explorer, a man who had been lost in African jungles during the last five years, the very creature for Bruns purposes. Here was some one who, knowing nothing about Art, would listen all the more readily to Bruns pronouncement upon it, a homely simple soul, fitted for the killing of lions and tigers, but pliable as wax in the hands of a master of civilization like Brun. At the same time Arkwright was no fool a psychologist in his way, he had written two books about the East that had aroused considerable interest. No fool, Arkwright. . . . He would be able to appreciate Bruns subtleties and perhaps add some of his own. He had, however, been away from England for so long a time that anything that Brun had to tell him about the London world would be pleasantly fresh and stimulating. Brun, round and neat, and a citizen of the world from the crown of his head to the top of his shining toes, tapped Arkwright on his shoulder Hallo Brun. How are you It is good to see you Havent seen a soul I know for the last ever so long. Good-good. Excellent. Come along in here. In there Pictures Whats the use of me looking at pictures We can talk in here. Ill tell you all the news...