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The cook remains, as Monsieur and le Docteur must eat. My meals are served in madame's dressing-room, and shared by that lady. Courage, my friend, our time is almost here. And I am yours till death, This letter was perused by Olive and Clarence with almost breathless eagerness and interest.
He looked at her in surprise for a moment, but was too modest to tell that he gave twice as much to worthy poor as he ever gave to personal pleasure; so the subject dropped, and they were silent until Olive asked, with a sudden recollection of how she had frequently heard him describe ladies' toilets: "Do they I will have to ask you because there is no one else but do the ladies dress much at opera, here?"
"On professional business, my dear Martin; strictly on professional business; and I promised my girls long ago that they should accompany me. We shall go forth to-night by the heavy coach like the dove of old, my dear Martin and it will be a week before we again deposit, our olive-branches in the passage. When I say olive branches," observed Mr.
A faint tinge of crimson showed through the pale olive in her cheek, and he caught the glimmer of pearly teeth between the ripe red lips. In her presence he grew painfully conscious that he was ragged, toil-stained and dusty, though he had made the best toilet he could beside a stream. "I have removed the rock, and have brought the tools back," he said.
The Esplanade lamps were lit one by one, the bandsmen folded up their stands and departed, the yachts in the bay hung out their riding lights, and the little boats came back to shore one after another, their hirers walking on to the sands by the plank they had climbed to go afloat; but among these Stephen and Olive did not appear. "What a time they are!" said Emily. "I am getting quite chilly.
Miss Rothesay did not see with what eagerness the girl listened to every sound, nor how every morning, fair and foul, she would restlessly start to walk up the Harbury road and meet the daily post. It was during one of these absences of hers that Lyle made his appearance. Olive was sitting in her painting-room, arranging the contents of her desk.
A flush of excitement glowed through the olive skin, his hand tightly grasped his spear, and his eyes were fixed on the distant city. Suddenly the sheik raised the vibrating battle-cry of the Arabs, in which the whole of his followers joined, and then at a wild gallop they dashed forward, the horses seeming to share in the excitement of their riders.
"What is to be done?" cried Olive. "Shall I tell my mother?" "If I might advise, I would say decisively, No! Better leave the matter in my hands. Harold! 'tis a boy's name," he added, meditatively. "If it were a girl's now I executed a little commission for Captain Rothesay once." "What did you say?" asked Olive, looking up at him with her innocent eyes.
"How pleasant quadrilles must be!" said Olive, as she sat with her favourite Lyle, watching the dancers. Lyle had crept to her, sliding his hand in hers, and looking up to her with a most adoring gaze, as indeed he often did. He had even communicated his intention of marrying her when he grew a man a determination which greatly excited the ridicule of his elder brother.
Every day when the postman arrives I believe he looks for a letter from her, and he shows that he feels it when he finds none. He is good-natured, and pleasant, but he is not as cheerful as when I first came." "Every day," said Mrs. Easterfield, as they walked together, "I love Olive more and more." "So do I," thought Dick. "But every day I understand her less and less," she continued.
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