upon this, he said:
âThat was our house at Cheltenham.â
âOh, is that where you come from?â
Then there was his collection. The room was crowded with Buddhas and with figures, in bronze or wood, of the Buddhaâs disciples; there were boxes of all shapes, utensils of one kind and another, curiosities of every sort, and although there were far too many they were arranged with a certain taste so that the effect was pleasing. He had some lovely things. He showed them to me with pride, telling me how he had got this object and that, and how he had heard of another and hunted it down and the incredible astuteness he had employed to induce an unwilling owner to part with it. His kindly eyes shonewhen he described a great bargain and they flashed darkly when he inveighed against the unreasonableness of a vendor who rather than accept a fair price for a bronze dish had taken it away. There were flowers in the room, and it had not the forlorn look that so many bachelorsâ houses have in the East.
âYouâve made the place very comfortable,â I said.
He gave the room a sweeping glance.
âIt
was
all right. Itâs not much now.â
I did not quite know what he meant. Then he showed me a long wooden gilt box, decorated with the glass mosaic that I had admired in the palace at Mandalay, but the workmanship was more delicate than anything I had seen there, and this with its gem-like richness had really something of the ornate exquisiteness of the Italian Renaissance.
âThey tell me itâs about a couple of hundred years old,â he said. âTheyâve not been able to turn out anything like this for a long time.â
It was a piece made obviously for a kingâs palace and you wondered to what uses it had been put and what hands it had passed through. It was a jewel.
âWhat is the inside like?â I asked.
âOh, nothing much, itâs just lacquered.â
He opened it and I saw that it contained three or four framed photographs.
âOh, Iâd forgotten those were there,â he said.
His soft, musical voice had a queer sound in it, and I gave him a sidelong look. He was bronzed by the sun, but his face notwithstanding flushed a deeper red. He was about to close the box, and then he changed his mind. He took out one of the photographs and showed it to me.
âSome of these Burmese girls are rather sweet when theyâre young, arenât they?â he said.
The photograph showed a young girl standing somewhat self-consciously against the conventional background of a photographerâs studio, a pagoda and a groupof palm-trees. She was wearing her best clothes and she had a flower in her hair. But the embarrassment you saw she felt at having her picture taken did not prevent a shy smile from trembling on her lips and her large solemn eyes had nevertheless a roguish twinkle. She was very small and very slender.
âWhat a ravishing little thing,â I said.
Then Masterson took out another photograph in which she sat with a child standing by her side, his hand timidly on her knee, and a baby in her arms. The child stared straight in front of him with a look of terror on his face; he could not understand what that machine and the man behind it, his head under a black cloth, were up to.
âAre those her children?â I asked.
âAnd mine,â said Masterson.
At that moment the boy came in to say that brunch was ready. We went into the dining-room and sat down.
âI donât know what youâll get to eat. Since my girl went away everything in the house has gone to blazes.â
A sulky look came into his red honest face and I did not know what to reply.
âIâm so hungry that whatever I get will seem good,â I hazarded.
He did not say anything and a plate of thin porridge was put before me. I helped myself to milk and sugar. Masterson ate a spoonful or two and pushed his plate aside.
âI wish I
âThat was our house at Cheltenham.â
âOh, is that where you come from?â
Then there was his collection. The room was crowded with Buddhas and with figures, in bronze or wood, of the Buddhaâs disciples; there were boxes of all shapes, utensils of one kind and another, curiosities of every sort, and although there were far too many they were arranged with a certain taste so that the effect was pleasing. He had some lovely things. He showed them to me with pride, telling me how he had got this object and that, and how he had heard of another and hunted it down and the incredible astuteness he had employed to induce an unwilling owner to part with it. His kindly eyes shonewhen he described a great bargain and they flashed darkly when he inveighed against the unreasonableness of a vendor who rather than accept a fair price for a bronze dish had taken it away. There were flowers in the room, and it had not the forlorn look that so many bachelorsâ houses have in the East.
âYouâve made the place very comfortable,â I said.
He gave the room a sweeping glance.
âIt
was
all right. Itâs not much now.â
I did not quite know what he meant. Then he showed me a long wooden gilt box, decorated with the glass mosaic that I had admired in the palace at Mandalay, but the workmanship was more delicate than anything I had seen there, and this with its gem-like richness had really something of the ornate exquisiteness of the Italian Renaissance.
âThey tell me itâs about a couple of hundred years old,â he said. âTheyâve not been able to turn out anything like this for a long time.â
It was a piece made obviously for a kingâs palace and you wondered to what uses it had been put and what hands it had passed through. It was a jewel.
âWhat is the inside like?â I asked.
âOh, nothing much, itâs just lacquered.â
He opened it and I saw that it contained three or four framed photographs.
âOh, Iâd forgotten those were there,â he said.
His soft, musical voice had a queer sound in it, and I gave him a sidelong look. He was bronzed by the sun, but his face notwithstanding flushed a deeper red. He was about to close the box, and then he changed his mind. He took out one of the photographs and showed it to me.
âSome of these Burmese girls are rather sweet when theyâre young, arenât they?â he said.
The photograph showed a young girl standing somewhat self-consciously against the conventional background of a photographerâs studio, a pagoda and a groupof palm-trees. She was wearing her best clothes and she had a flower in her hair. But the embarrassment you saw she felt at having her picture taken did not prevent a shy smile from trembling on her lips and her large solemn eyes had nevertheless a roguish twinkle. She was very small and very slender.
âWhat a ravishing little thing,â I said.
Then Masterson took out another photograph in which she sat with a child standing by her side, his hand timidly on her knee, and a baby in her arms. The child stared straight in front of him with a look of terror on his face; he could not understand what that machine and the man behind it, his head under a black cloth, were up to.
âAre those her children?â I asked.
âAnd mine,â said Masterson.
At that moment the boy came in to say that brunch was ready. We went into the dining-room and sat down.
âI donât know what youâll get to eat. Since my girl went away everything in the house has gone to blazes.â
A sulky look came into his red honest face and I did not know what to reply.
âIâm so hungry that whatever I get will seem good,â I hazarded.
He did not say anything and a plate of thin porridge was put before me. I helped myself to milk and sugar. Masterson ate a spoonful or two and pushed his plate aside.
âI wish I
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