was not, what she obviously was not. I could somehow “cope with” my time and generation, while they were of the breed destined to failure. I was of the race that is surviving the England of Horatio Bottomley, the England of{26} lies, vulgarity, and unclean savagery; while they of the imperious nerves had failed, they had died that slow white death which is reserved for privilege in defeat.
{26}
Gerald, I told her, was a more solitary man than I had ever known or thought to know. I supposed he had a small income, for he seemed to manage to live. He was very shy, absurdly shy, tortured shy. She nodded gravely, and I went on to say that shyness was a cruel disease with Gerald: it was a shyness, to strangers, without charm, for he never could show his shyness, he must show everything but his shyness. And so it was that he couldn’t get on with people, and now he had ceased to try, he just had drinks. Every Sunday afternoon he went to tea with his aunt, Lady Eve Chalice, in Mount Street.
“It was Eve who really created my impulse,” she told me, then: “Oh, here!” and I found I had an empty cigarette-case in my hand and that she was offering me hers. It was an oblong white-jade case, and chained to it by a double chain of gold was a hectagonal black onyx box which may or may not have held powder. One corner of the hectagonal black onyx was initialed in minute diamond letters: I.S.
“Iris,” she said. “Iris Storm.” And she smiled, childishly, formally, saying: “You have been so nice, I had forgotten we didn’t know each other.” I told her my name, in that embarrassed way one always does tell any one one’s name, and we smoked a while in silence. She inhaled her smoke with a faint hiss, and her teeth were a regiment of even bits of rice-paper standing at attention, very{27} smart and sharp. Teeth always give one ideas. These were imperious, dangerous teeth. On a middle one was wedged a small string of tobacco: it lay coiled there like a brown maggot, and when I told her about that she removed it with the nail of her small finger, and regarded it. She had a great talent for looking at nothing in particular, and that was the only likeness I could see between the twins: thoughtful they both were. Suddenly, from the tousled dark head on the table came a jumble of inarticulate words. She listened intently. Gerald shivered, but his face remained buried in his crossed arms.
{27}
“He’s dreaming,” I said. She looked at me, and I thought there were tears in her eyes. But as they
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