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Pendennis but the Chevalier gave her no answer: perhaps could not give her one. "Miss Amory paints, Miss Amory writes poems, Miss Amory composes music, Miss Amory rides like Diana Vernon. Miss Amory is a paragon, in a word." "I hate clever women," said Pen. "Thank you," said Laura. For her part she was sure she should be charmed with Miss Amory, and quite longed to have such a friend.
As for Miss Amory, she was contented enough with Pen as long as there was nobody better. And how many other young ladies are like her? and how many love marriages carry on well to the last? and how many sentimental firms do not finish in bankruptcy? and how many heroic passions don't dwindle down into despicable indifference, or end in shameful defeat?
George what was toward, and the new and alluring delight of seeing Antoinette Frothingham near at hand in the banquet room. After all, he had had only the vaguest glimpse of a little figure in rose and silver, and he doubted if he could tell her from the princess, but for the interpreting gown. Amory looked up with an irrepressible thrill of delight.
As he came toward them across the terrace St. George saw that he was miraculously not alone. Afterward Amory told him what had happened and what had made him abide in patience and such wondrous self-effacement. When St. George had left him contemplating the far beauties of the little blur of light that was Med, Mr.
Down a side avenue one of those tunnels of shadow that taught the necessity of mystery a great motor car was speeding, and in the dimness the two men could see the white of Olivia's floating veil. At this, Amory wheeled and searched the length of wall across the yard. If only if only
"Let things drop between us; here forever." Amory stood before her with an expression which reminded her of his description of himself obstinate; yes, he looked it. "Why?" he urged. "Just because you are not to marry Tom, is there any reason why we should not like each other is there? That is if we do! I do," he laughed. "Do you?" Her lids had dropped; she looked very slim, and young, and shy.
"Jove," said Amory, trying to row and adjust his pince-nez at the same time, "Chillingworth will never forgive us for missing that." "You couldn't have done it," shouted Little Cawthorne derisively, from the deck of the yacht, "you didn't wear your rubbers. If anybody sticks a knife in you send up a r-r-r-ocket!"
Bolton: "and who was the young woman, I wonder?" "A neighbour of mine in the country Miss 'Amory," Arthur said, "Lady Clavering's daughter. You've seen Sir Francis often in Shepherd's Inn, Mrs. Bolton." As he spoke, Fanny built up a perfect romance in three volumes love faithlessness splendid marriage at St.
George had said, was delicious, especially his drawl; but there were times now, for example, when all that the eyes of Amory expressed was what his lips framed, sotto-voce: "An American heiress, betrothed to the prince of a cannibal island! Wouldn't Chillingworth turn in his grave at his desk?" The "porch of light" proved to be an especially fascinating place at evening.
George hurried to his apartment to leave a note for Amory who was directed upon his arrival to bide there and await his host's return. Then he paced the floor until it was time to go back to the Boris, deaf to Rollo's solemn information that the dust comes up out of the varnish of furniture during the night, like cream out of milk. By the time he had boarded a down-town car, St.
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