"You see, I've heard other people call her
that--in joke. And you dedicated your book about Lhassa, that made you
such a famous person, to her, didn't you?"
"No. What made you think that?" He was really annoyed now, and I was
pleased--if anything could please me, in my despair.
"Why, everybody thinks it. It was dedicated to 'M.R.' as if the name
were a secret, so--"
"'Everybody' is very stupid then. 'M.R.' is an old lady, my god-mother,
who helped me with money for my expedition to Lhassa, otherwise I
couldn't have gone. And she isn't of the kind that likes to see her name
in print. Now, where shall I take you, Imp? Because I must go and look
for Mrs. Allendale."
"I'll stay where I am, thank you," I said, "and watch you dance--from
far off. That's my part in life, you know: watching other people dance
from far off."
When he was gone, I leaned back among the cushions, and I wasn't sure
that one of my heart attacks would not come on. I felt horribly alone,
and deserted; and though I hate Di, and always have hated her, ever
since the tiny child and her mother (a beautiful, rich, young
Californian widow) came into my father's house in New York, she does
know how to manage me better than anyone else, when I am in such moods.
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