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I am so thankful he is not a celebrity." "Nor ever likely to be unless he marries the wrong woman." "What do you mean by that?" asked Charmian with curiosity. "A woman who is ambitious for him and pushes him." "But if this Claude Heath has so much talent, surely it would be a fine thing to make him give it to the world." "That depends on his temperament, I daresay," said Mrs. Mansfield.
"Then you are not sure?" "Yes, I am," said I; "it was a blue riband," and I turned over a page very ostentatiously. "Oh!" said Charmian, and there was another pause, during which I construed probably fifty lines or so. "Peter?" "Well?" "Where did you say it was now my locket?" "I didn't say it was anywhere." "No, you said it was 'somewhere' in a rather vague sort of way, Peter."
Then the footsteps of men were heard in the anteroom, and Iras, who was the first to notice them, cried eagerly: "The moment is approaching! I am glad it is close at hand. Does it not seem to you also as if the very sun in the heavens was darkened?" Charmian nodded assent, and whispered, "The poison?" "Here!" replied Iras calmly, holding out a plain pin.
The control of the subterranean chambers in the Temple of Isis which had been bestowed on the architect, also appeared like a miracle. Upon a small tablet, which the wise Aisopion had intentionally delayed handing to her mistress until now, were the lines: "Archibius greets his sister Charmian.
In a moment Susan walked in, looking as usual temperate, kind, and absolutely unconscious of herself. She was warmly wrapped in a fur given to her by Mrs. Shiffney. When she had taken it off and sat down beside Charmian in the over-heated room, Charmian began at once to use her as a receptacle. She proceeded to pour her exultation into Susan. The rehearsal had greatly excited her.
From that moment she regarded Claude as a weapon in the fight which must be won if she were to achieve her great ambition. On a January evening in the following year Claude and Charmian had just finished dinner, and Claude got up, rather slowly and wearily, from the small table which stood in the middle of their handsome red sitting-room on the eighth floor of the St. Regis Hotel in New York.
"My sister Charmian was with the Queen, but through one of Arsinoe's maids, who was devoted to her, we had learned from the palace that Pompey's fate was decided. He had come a fugitive from the defeat of Pharsalus, and begged the King of Egypt that is, the men who were acting in his name for a hospitable reception. Pothinus and his associates had rarely confronted a greater embarrassment.
After such conversations Iras and Charmian left her with bleeding hearts. They had long since resolved to share the fate of their royal mistress, whatever it might be. Their common suffering was the bond which again united them in affection. Iras had provided poisoned pins which had speedily destroyed the animals upon which they had been tried.
"My only mother!" came up a voice from below. She saw Charmian pushing up her veil over her three-cornered travelling-hat with a bright red feather. "Where are you? Oh, there!" She came up the stairs. "Such a crossing! I'm an unlucky girl! Remedies are no use. Dearest!" She put two light hands on her mother's shoulders and kissed her twice with lips which were rather cold.
Charmian, taller than she was, bent a little and kissed her. "Wonderful mother!" "What nonsense you talk; but only to me, I know!" "Other people know it without my telling them. You jump into minds and hearts, and poor little I remain outside, squatting like a hungry child." "And that is greater nonsense still. Come and sit up with me for a little." "No, not to-night, you darling!"
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