The whole ghastly house would be exhibited to
every visitor as the result of their joint taste. She could hear Mr.
Airlie's purring voice congratulating her.
She ought to have insisted on their going to a decent shop. The mere
advertisement ought to have forewarned her. It was the posters that had
captured Mrs. Phillips: those dazzling apartments where bejewelled
society reposed upon the "high-class but inexpensive designs" of Mr.
Krebs. Artists ought to have more self-respect than to sell their
talents for such purposes.
The contract was concluded in Mr. Krebs' private office: a very stout
gentleman with a very thin voice, whose dream had always been to one day
be of service to the renowned Mr. Robert Phillips. He was clearly under
the impression that he had now accomplished it. Even as Mrs. Phillips
took up the pen to sign, the wild idea occurred to Joan of snatching the
paper away from her, hustling her into a cab, and in some quiet street or
square making the woman see for herself that she was a useless fool; that
the glowing dreams and fancies she had cherished in her silly head for
fifteen years must all be given up; that she must stand aside, knowing
herself of no account.
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