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"Wages?" Whitney flushed with anger. "No, if the dirty dogs wish to leave us in the lurch without notice, they will not get one cent from me." "They won't leave us," declared Kathleen. "At least, I am sure that Vincent and Rosa will not go. They have been with us too long." "I only know what Henry told me he heard in the kitchen this morning," explained Mrs. Whitney.
This reception was so entirely unexpected, that it disconcerted him; and instead of the severe reproof he had contemplated, he said, in an expostulating tone: "Rosa, I always thought you the soul of honor. When we parted, you promised not to go to the plantation unless I was with you. Is this the way you keep your word?" "You talk of honor and promises!" she exclaimed.
The part of Mary the mother of Christ is admirably taken by Rosa Lang. In dress and mien, she seems to have stepped down from some picture-frame of Raphael or Murillo. The Mary of Rosa Lang is in every respect a worthy companion of Mayr's Christus.
Louis, impatient to be off, performed that ceremony quickly; Rosa who had reserved a surprise for the invalid, put a new book into her hand as she kissed her; Teresa, as she embraced her in her turn, left many instructions; then, as Paula came forward, we heard a sob as she buried her face on my oldest sister's shoulder. "What's the matter now?" said my father.
His father dying in 1818, left him a valuable estate in France, and seventeen thousand dollars, deposited with a merchant in Richmond, Virginia; but Audubon was so dilatory in proving his identity and his legal right to this cash, that the merchant finally died insolvent, and the legatee never received a cent of it. The French estate he transferred in after years to his sister Rosa.
Guppy, divesting himself of his wet dreadnought in the hall. "Us London lawyers don't often get an out, and when we do, we like to make the most of it, you know." The old housekeeper, with a gracious severity of deportment, waves her hand towards the great staircase. Mr. Guppy and his friend follow Rosa; Mrs.
Barr, on this, ceased to look daggers and substituted icicles; but on the hateful beauty moving away, dropped the icicles, and resumed the poniards. The rooms filled; the heat became oppressive, and the mixed odors of flowers, scents, and perspiring humanity, sickening. Some, unable to bear it, trickled out of the room, and sat all down the stairs. Rosa began to feel faint.
The saucy Banksiae laughed, running over their wires that they cling to like little children. "You have got your wish," they said. "You are going to be a great lady; they have made you into a Rosa Indica!" A tea rose! Was it possible? Was she going to belong at last to that grand and graceful order, which she had envied so long and vainly from afar?
He deals very freely and rather indiscriminately with the names of artists, Phidias, Raphael, Salvator Rosa, and he speaks always in such a way that it is impossible to connect what he says with any impression we have ever received from the works of those masters. In fact, Emerson has never in his life felt the normal appeal of any painting, or any sculpture, or any architecture, or any music.
The two stood, side by side, gazing at them. 'What did he give for 'em? Anthony asked. 'Fifty-five shillings. 'Ay, he assented, nodding absently. 'Was Dr. Sanderson na seein' o' yer father yesterday? he asked, after a moment. 'He came in t' forenoon. He said he was jest na worse. 'Ye knaw, Miss Rosa, as I'm still thinkin' on ye, he began abruptly, without looking up.
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