Page 357 - of-human-bondage-

ton roasted round the corner and brought round hot and
savoury (Miss Chalice had cooked the potatoes, and the stu-
dio was redolent of the carrots she had fried; fried carrots
were her specialty); and this was to be followed by poires
flambees, pears with burning brandy, which Cronshaw had
volunteered to make. The meal was to finish with an enor-
mous fromage de Brie, which stood near the window and
added fragrant odours to all the others which filled the stu-
dio. Cronshaw sat in the place of honour on a Gladstone
bag, with his legs curled under him like a Turkish bashaw,
beaming good-naturedly on the young people who sur-
rounded him. From force of habit, though the small studio
with the stove lit was very hot, he kept on his great-coat,
with the collar turned up, and his bowler hat: he looked
with satisfaction on the four large fiaschi of Chianti which
stood in front of him in a row, two on each side of a bottle
of whiskey; he said it reminded him of a slim fair Circas-
sian guarded by four corpulent eunuchs. Hayward in order
to put the rest of them at their ease had clothed himself in
a tweed suit and a Trinity Hall tie. He looked grotesquely
British. The others were elaborately polite to him, and dur-
ing the soup they talked of the weather and the political
situation. There was a pause while they waited for the leg of
mutton, and Miss Chalice lit a cigarette.
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,’ she said sud-
denly.
With an elegant gesture she untied a ribbon so that her
tresses fell over her shoulders. She shook her head.
‘I always feel more comfortable with my hair down.’

Of Human Bondage