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Besides, why should he go? What was there to go for? If it was that Bengough creature again, let her look after herself; Oleron was not going to have things cramp themselves on his defenceless back for the sake of such a spoilsport as she!... If she was in, let her let herself out again, and the sooner the better for her! Oleron simply couldn't be bothered. He had his work to do.
Yes, here Oleron had made a distinct discovery; he wondered he had not made it before. He pictured Miss Bengough again as she had appeared that afternoon large, showy, moistly pink, with that quality of the prize bloom exuding, as it were, from her; and instantly she suffered in his thought.
I replied that I was a stranger in Bristol, I was neither as yet; but that I hoped soon to become both. This caused immense clamour, and Alderman Bengough and his supporters, some of the well-dressed rabble of the city of Bristol, roared out lustily, "turn him out, turn him out."
Bengough in these times to rise in Grip far above all previous attempts in the same direction, and 'to show up' very successfully, and generally with much humour, certain salient features of our contemporary history. The influence of the press, during the century, must be measured by the political intelligence and activity of the people.
The devil himself could not have given a leer at anything that had ever passed between Paul Oleron and Elsie Bengough, yet this nosing rascal must be prying and talking!... Oleron crumpled the paper up, held it in the candle flame, and then ground the ashes under his heel.
Then, her business over, she seemed anxious to get away again. But Elsie Bengough had no luck whatever in that house. A second accident befell her. Half-way down the staircase there was the sharp sound of splintering wood, and she checked a loud cry. Oleron knew the woodwork to be old, but he himself had ascended and descended frequently enough without mishap....
We had expected to have found a chaplain among them, as at Saint Stephen's, and other Court establishments; and were the more surprised at the omission, as the last Mr. Bengough, at the one house, and Mr.
He wasn't surprised that she liked Romilly as she at present existed; she would. Whether she realised it or not, there was much of herself in his fictitious creation. Naturally Romilly would seem "real," "living," to her.... "But are you really serious, Paul?" Miss Bengough asked presently, with a round-eyed stare. "Quite serious." "You're really going to scrap those fifteen chapters?"
In proportion, however, as he felt this growing attachment to the fabric of his abode, Elsie Bengough, from being merely unattracted, began to show a dislike of the place that was more and more marked. And she did not scruple to speak of her aversion. "It doesn't belong to to-day at all, and for you especially it's bad," she said with decision.
Nor could he believe that his hearing was not playing tricks with him, for there were two policemen in his room, bending over him and asking where "she" was. He shook his head. "This woman Bengough... goes by the name of Miss Elsie Bengough... d'ye hear? Where is she?... No good, Brackley; get him up; be careful with him; I'll just shove my head out of the window, I think...."
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