A study in the origins of a great family pdf download

A study in the origins of a great family

The Bishop’s Apron – A study in the origins of a great family

Author: W. Somerset Maugham

A STUDY IN THE ORIGINS OF A GREAT FAMILY

THE world takes people very willingly at the estimate in which they hold themselves. With a fashionable bias for expression in a foreign tongue, it calls modesty mauvaise honte, and the impudent are thought merely to have a proper opinion of their merit. But Ponsonby was really an imposing personage.

His movements were measured and noiseless, and he wore the sombre garb of a gentleman’s butler with impressive dignity.

He was a large man, flabby and corpulent, with loose, smooth skin. His face, undisturbed by the rapid play of expression, which he would have thought indecorous, had a look of placid respectability; his eyes, with their puffy lower lids, rested on surrounding objects heavily; and his earnest, obsequious voice gave an impression of such overwhelming piety that your glance, involuntarily, fell to his rotund calves for the gaiters episcopal.

He looked gravely at the table set out for luncheon, while Alfred, the footman, walked around it, placing bread in each napkin.

He looked gravely at the table set out for luncheon, while Alfred, the footman, walked around it, placing bread in each napkin.

“Is Tommy Tiddler coming today, Mr Ponsonby?” he asked. “His lordship is expected,” returned the butler, with a frigid stare.

He emphasised the aspirate to mark his disapproval of the flippancy wherewith his colleague referred to a person who was not only the brother of his master but a member of the aristocracy.

“Here he is!” said Alfred, unabashed, looking out of the window. “He’s just drove up in a cab.”

Lord Spratte walked up the steps and rang the bell. Though Ponsonby had seen him two or three times a week for ten years, he gave no sign of recognition.

“Am I expected to luncheon today, Ponsonby?” “Yes, my lord.”

Lord Spratte was middle-aged, of fresh complexion notwithstanding his grey hair; and his manner was quick and breezy. He carried his years and the increasing girth which accompanied them, with a graceful light-heartedness; and was apt to flatter himself that with the light behind he might still pass for five-and-thirty. He had neither the wish nor the intention to grow old.

But the man of fifty, seeking to make the most of himself, must use many careful adjustments. Not for him are the loose, ill-fitting clothes that become a stripling of eighteen; his tailor needs a world of skill to counteract the slackening of muscle and to