Seven Sachs, and the
arch-famous American actor-author also lapsed into silence. But the
silence of Mr. Seven Sachs was different from Rose Euclid's. He
was not shy. A dark and handsome, tranquil, youngish man, with
a redoubtable square chin, delicately rounded at the corners, he
strikingly resembled his own figure on the stage; and moreover, he
seemed to regard silence as a natural and proper condition. He simply
stood, in a graceful posture, with his muscles at ease, and waited.
Mr. Bryany, behind, seemed to be reduced in stature, and to have
become apologetic for himself in the presence of greatness.
Still, Mr. Bryany did say something.
Said Mr. Bryany:
"Sorry to hear you've been seedy, Mr. Machin!"
"Oh, yes!" Rose Euclid blurted out, as if shot. "It's very good of you
to ask us up here."
Mr. Seven Sachs concurred, adding that he hoped the illness was not
serious.
Edward Henry said it was not.
"Won't you sit down, all of you?" said Edward Henry.
"Miss--er--Euclid--"
They all sat down except Mr. Bryany.
"Sit down, Bryany," said Edward Henry. "I'm glad to be able to return
your hospitality at the Turk's Head."
This was a blow for Mr. Bryany, who obviously felt it, and grew even
more apologetic as he fumbled with assumed sprightliness at a chair.
"Fancy your being here all the time!" said he.
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