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"Well, good-by. Write to Sloyd unless Iver decides to come up. And don't forget that little story about Bob Broadley! Because you'll find it useful, if you think of frightening Sloyd. He can't move without me and I don't move without my price." "You moved from Blent," Duplay reminded him, stung to a sudden malice. "Yes," said Harry thoughtfully. "Yes, so I did. Well, I suppose I had my price.
Broadley, as he delivered them to me in his old Arab house in Tunis. One charming friend I made during my visit. This was the English Consul-General, Mr. Reade, who entertained me in his beautiful house at the Marsa, close to the site of Carthage. A pleasant, rather grave, and thoughtful man, Mr.
But it hurt that terrible pride of his; he was in a way disgusted with the part he had chosen, and humiliated to think that he might not be accepted for himself. A refusal would have hurt him incalculably; such an assent as he counted upon would wound him somewhat too. He had keen eyes, and he had formed his own opinion about Bob Broadley.
I remember going to Broadley, the day he was appointed Foreign Minister, and I asked him a simple question.
Glances were exchanged, while Neeld made half-hearted efforts to grapple with an egg. Then Bob Broadley broke out with a laugh, "Oh, hang it all, out with it, Mr Neeld!" "Well, I'm not told to be silent; and it must become known immediately. Madame Zabriska telegraphs to me that they are to be married early this morning, and will come to Blent by the 1.30 train.
Gradually, melodiously, and happily the voice died away in the distance, and silence came. Harry drew his love to him. "Dear old Bob Broadley!" said he softly. "He's driving back from Fairholme, and he seems most particularly jolly." "Yes," she murmured. Then she broke into a low, merry, triumphant laugh. "I don't see why he should be so particularly jolly."
Broadley smiled at me. 'Lord Dorminster, he said, 'the chief cause of wars in the past has been suspicion. We look upon espionage as a disgraceful practice. It is the people of Germany with whom we are in touch now, not a military oligarchy, and the people of Germany no more desire war than we do.
See also, on the early life of Bonaparte, Oscar Browning, Napoleon: the First Phase, 1769-1793 ; and, on his final years at St. Helena, Lord Rosebery, Napoleon: the Last Phase . An illuminating work is that of A. M. Broadley, Napoleon in Caricature, 1795-1821, with an introductory essay by J. H. Rose, 2 vols. .
Lady Tristram was visibly, although not ostentatiously, allowing for the prejudices of a moral middle-class. "Young Bob Broadley was there you know who I mean? At Mingham Farm, up above the Pool." "I know a handsome young man." "I forgot he was handsome. Of course you know him then! What a pity I'm not handsome, mother!" "Oh, you've the air, though," she observed contentedly.
If he is provided with a son, he has the chance of a more unselfish benevolence; but Iver was not. Let all be said that could be said Bob Broadley was a disappointment. Iver would, if put to it, have preferred Duplay. There was at least a cosmopolitan polish about the Major; drawing-rooms would not appal him nor the thought of going to Court throw him into a perspiration.
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