Miss Vanderpoel's habits were
regular from the first, and when Salter saw her he was impressed even
more at the outset with her air of being at home instead of on board
ship. Her practically well-chosen corner was an agreeable place to look
at. Her chair was built for ease of angle and width, her cushions were
of dark rich colours, her travelling rugs were of black fox fur, and
she owned an adjustable table for books and accompaniments. She appeared
early in the morning and walked until the sea air crimsoned her cheeks,
she sat and read with evident enjoyment, she talked to her companions
and plainly entertained them.
Salter, being bored and in bad spirits, found himself watching her
rather often, but he knew that but for the small, comic episode of
Tommy, he would have definitely disliked her. The dislike would not have
been fair, but it would have existed in spite of himself. It would
not have been fair because it would have been founded simply upon the
ignoble resentment of envy, upon the poor truth that he was not in the
state of mind to avoid resenting the injustice of fate in bestowing
multi-millions upon one person and his offspring. He resented his own
resentment, but was obliged to acknowledge its existence in his humour.
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