The Countess of Lowndes Square and Other Stories/The Tragedy of Oliver Bowman

The Tragedy of Oliver Bowman
Oliver Bowman was sitting opposite his sister after dinner, watching her cracking walnuts in her strong, firm hands. The wonder of it never failed: she put two walnuts in her palms, pressed her hands together as if in silent prayer, and then there was a great crash and pieces of walnut-shell flew about the table. It was a waste of energy, no doubt, since close beside her were the nut-crackers that gave the nut-eater so great a mechanical advantage; but then his sister had so much energy that it would have been not less ridiculous to accuse the sea of wasting energy because it broke in waves on the shore. Presently she would drink a couple of glasses of port and begin smoking in earnest.
“And then?” asked Oliver, who was exhibiting a fraternal interest in the way in which Alice had passed her day.
“Then I had tea at an A B C shop, and walked round the Park. Lovely day: you ought to have come out.”
“I had a little headache,” said Oliver. He spoke in a soft voice, which occasionally cracked and went into a high key, as when a boy's voice is breaking. That had happened to him some fifteen years ago, since he was now thirty; but he had made a habit of droppi

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