WHEN WILLIAM CAME


CHAPTER I: THE SINGING-BIRD AND THE BAROMETER


Cicely Yeovil sat in a low swing chair, alternately looking at herself in
a mirror and at the other occupant of the room in the flesh. Both
prospects gave her undisguised satisfaction. Without being vain she was
duly appreciative of good looks, whether in herself or in another, and
the reflection that she saw in the mirror, and the young man whom she saw
seated at the piano, would have come with credit out of a more severely
critical inspection. Probably she looked longer and with greater
appreciation at the piano player than at her own image; her good looks
were an inherited possession, that had been with her more or less all her
life, while Ronnie Storre was a comparatively new acquisition, discovered
and achieved, so to speak, by her own enterprise, selected by her own
good taste. Fate had given her adorable eyelashes and an excellent
profile. Ronnie was an indulgence she had bestowed on herself.

Cicely had long ago planned out for herself a complete philosophy of
life, and had resolutely set to work to carry her philosophy into
practice. "When love is over how little of love even the lover
understands," she quoted to herself from one of her favourite poets, and
transposed the saying into "While life is with us how little of life even
the materialist understands." Most people that she knew took endless
pains and precautions to preserve and prolong their lives and keep their
powers of enjoyment unimpaired; few, very few, seemed to make any
intelligent effort at understanding what they really wanted in the way of
enjoying their lives, or to ascertain what were the best means for