Falling Angels Read Online Free PDF Page B

He knows best in these matters, and to be sure I am very pleased with our new little house, a story higher than our Islington house and with a garden full of roses rather than the neighbor's chickens scrabbling in the dirt.
    But my heart did sink when I discovered that not only are we neighbors with the Colemans, but their house backs onto ours. And of course it is yet a story higher than ours and has the most tremendous garden. When no one was about I stood on a chair and peeked over. There is a willow, and a pond, and a bank of rhododendrons, and a lovely long lawn which I am sure the girls will play croquet on all summer.
    Kitty Coleman was working in the garden, planting out primroses. Her dress was of the same buttery color, and she wore a lovely wide-brimmed hat tied on with a chiffon scarf. Even at her gardening she is so well dressed. She didn't see me, I am thankful to say, or I should have been so mortified I might have fallen from the chair. As it was I hopped down quickly and jarred my ankle.
    I would not confess this to anyone, not even Albert, but it irritates me that she keeps such a fine garden. It is south facing and very sunny, which makes it easier. And she must have a man to help--at the very least with the lawn, which looks rolled. I shall do my best with our roses, but I do kill plants off so easily. I really am hopeless in the garden. It doesn't help that ours is north facing. And we cannot manage any help with it at present. I hope she does not offer to send her man over--I wouldn't know what to do.
    After Maude tumbled over the back fence I felt we should call round, if only to explain the scratches. The front of their house is so elegant--the garden is full of rosebushes, and the steps leading up to the door are tiled in black and white. (The door of our own house opens directly onto the pavement. But I must try not to compare.)
    I was hoping just to leave my card, but Kitty Coleman received us very gracefully in her morning room. I blinked at the colors she'd had it done in-mustard-yellow with a dark brown trim, which I suppose is fashionable now. She called them "golden yellow" and "chocolate brown," which sound much better than they looked. I prefer our own burgundy. There is nothing to compare with a simple burgundy parlor. Mind you, I don't have a morning room--perhaps if I did have such a light room as hers on the first floor I might paint it yellow as well.
    But I doubt it.
    Her taste is very refined--embroidered silk shawls over the sofas, potted ferns, vases of dried flowers, and a baby grand piano. I was rather shocked by the modern coffee set, which has a pattern of tiny black and yellow checks that made me feel dizzy. I myself prefer a simple rose pattern. But a chacun son gout. Oh! I made the mistake of saying so out loud, and she replied in French. I understood not a word of it! It was my own silly fault for trying to show off.
    I came away with one secret comfort. No, two. The girls at least are delighted with each other, and Livy could do with a sensible friend. At least Maude will be a steadying influence, unless she, too, succumbs to Livy's spell as the rest of us have--all but dear Ivy May, who is impervious to her sister's excesses. I am always surprised by her. Quiet as she is, she does not let Livy get the upper hand.
    And the other comfort: Kitty Coleman's At Homes are Tuesday afternoons, just as mine are. When we discovered this, she smiled a little and said, "Oh dear, that is a pity." I will not switch mine, however--some traditions I will not tamper with. And I know she will not switch hers. In this way we shall be able to avoid that social occasion, at least.
    I can't say exactly why I don't like her. She is perfectly civil and has good manners and is lovely to look at. She has a fine house and a handsome husband and a clever daughter. But I would not be her. A vein of discontent runs through her that disturbs everything around her. And I know it is uncharitable of me to