And Denry went down the obscure drive with a final vision of the poor
child, Nellie, as she stood at the door to speed them. It was
extraordinary how that child had remained a child. He knew that she must
be more than half-way through her twenties, and yet she persisted in
being the merest girl. A delightful little thing; but no _savoir
vivre_, no equality to a situation, no spectacular pride. Just a
nice, bright girl, strangely girlish.... The Cotterills had managed that
bad evening badly. They had shown no dignity, no reserve, no discretion;
and old Cotterill had been simply fatuous in his suggestion. As for Mrs
Cotterill, she was completely overcome, and it was due solely to Ruth's
calm, managing influence that Nellie, nervous and whimpering, had wound
herself up to come and shut the front door after the guests.
It was all very sad.
When he had successfully started the car, and they were sliding down the
Moorthorne hill together, side by side, their shoulders touching, Denry
threw off the nightmarish effect of the bankrupt household. After all,
there was no reason why he should be depressed. He was not a bankrupt.
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