The Garden Party, and Other Stories

At the Bay The Garden-Party The Daughters of the Late Colonel Mr. and Mrs. Dove The Young Girl Life of Ma Parker Marriage à la Mode The Voyage Miss Brill Her First Ball The Sing...

“Oh my _dear_!” Mrs. Harry Kember’s voice sounded as though she knew better than that. But then her voice always sounded as though she knew something better about you than you d...

“Draw up your chair, my dear,” said Mrs. Stubbs, beginning to pour out. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully, as she handed the tea, “but I don’t care about the size. I’m having an enla...

She was; now she was here she was terrified, and it seemed to her everything was different. The moonlight stared and glittered; the shadows were like bars of iron. Her hand was...

“All over, all over, thank heaven,” said Mrs. Sheridan. “Round up the others, Laura. Let’s go and have some fresh coffee. I’m exhausted. Yes, it’s been very successful. But oh,...

“Why?” snapped Josephine, feeling, as usual, much better now that she knew for certain that Constantia was terrified. “It’s got to be done. But I do wish you wouldn’t whisper, C...

Of course he knew—no man better—that he hadn’t a ghost of a chance, he hadn’t an earthly. The very idea of such a thing was preposterous. So preposterous that he’d perfectly und...

While we waited she took out a little, gold powder-box with a mirror in the lid, shook the poor little puff as though she loathed it, and dabbed her lovely nose.

“We have examined our client’s correspondence files....” The last sentence he had read echoed in his mind. “We have examined....” William hung on to that sentence, but it was no...

At the bottom grandma stopped; Fenella was rather afraid she was going to pray again. But no, it was only to get out the cabin tickets. They were in the saloon. It was glaring b...

Leila put two fingers on Laura’s pink velvet cloak, and they were somehow lifted past the big golden lantern, carried along the passage, and pushed into the little room marked “...

It seemed to the little crowd on the wharf that she was never going to move again. There she lay, immense, motionless on the grey crinkled water, a loop of smoke above her, an i...

... “He was too weak. He was too weak to move a finger.” And yet he died in Janey’s arms. She—who’d never—never once in all these years—never on one single solitary occasion—

... Only the last year, madam. Only after she’d got a little—well—feeble as you might say. Of course, she was never dangerous; she was the sweetest old lady. But how it took her...