Excerpt from The Street of to-Day Looking down the table, Lionel wondered at the want of faces. That was the only want. There were no faces; except the one face, far down, on the opposite side of the table.
The sporting lady turned to ask him if he would enter for a mixed foursome to be played at Sandwich, on the following Sunday. One of the men had sprained his wrist, and another man was wanted badly. Lionel was sorry, but he could not come. The links were awfully good, were they not? Yes, and you could get there and back so easily. Really, the sporting lady did not know how one had lived before motors. Lionel, looking at her, wondered at the restlessness of the life which had made her face feverish and hard at the same time. He wondered to what depths of selfishness one could sink in a life of playing the game. He could not tell. He thought that if this lady, with the hard eyes, and the hard mouth, and pretty hair, took a fancy, she would stick at nothing to gratify it. She was bright, she was clever, she was capable. Yet her face was not a soul's index; there was no character in it; only a desire to be gratified, in some expensive, correct, and foolish way. She wished to be amused. Looked at for more than two seconds, she displayed the sign of a secret bitterness at not being amused enough.
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