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It stood in an enchanted land with the sea behind it nobody had ever thought of taking Barbara down to the sea, though it was so near. The sea was always blue, of course, like the sky, or the larkspur she was never quite sure of the colour. The air all around the Tower smelled sweet, just like cologne.
I must not keep you longer from the wife who grudges every moment that you are absent from her side," she concluded, with a smile as sweet and beautiful as that of her girlhood's days. While the captain and his mother-in-law held this little conversation in the upper hall, Zoe and Rosie were promenading the veranda, arm in arm.
Their dreams were the same, they had but one thought: they did not know what it was: they did not admit it to themselves. At eleven they smiled and parted. Next day they did not even try to talk: they resumed their sweet silence. At long intervals a word or two let them know that they were thinking of the same things. Sabine began to laugh. "How much better it is," she said, "not to try to talk!
I read in an Eastern bee journal that sweet clover can be sowed on hard uncultivated land with success. Could I grow it on the hard vacant spots that occur in the alfalfa fields?
You know a man must sometimes swallow bitter medicine when he is sick and faint, and the bitterest will appear sweet if he drinks it in order to imbibe new life and health. My poor country is, indeed, sick unto death, and therefore I go to Warsaw to swallow a bitter pill for the health and salvation of my land. But we go on crutches, two hard crutches."
She saw again the softly lighted room with its open windows through which the flowers peeped, and heard his gay badinage and his low, sweet laugh. Could she be the same Evadne, or was it all a dream? Isabelle stood beside her as she began to prepare for the night. She wished she would go away. The burden of loneliness grew every moment more intolerable.
I reckon you read it." "Could I read a letter I left at Tucson, when it was a hundred miles away?" she smiled with sweet patronage. "Not if you left it at Tucson," he assented, with an answering smile. "Maybe I DID lose it." She frowned, trying to remember. "Then I'll have to tell you what was in it." "Any time will do. I dare say it wasn't important." "Then we'll say THIS time."
When, of his own volition, he would jump into her abundant lap and go to burrowing with his little soft round head beneath her soft round elbows, the while gurglingly purring forth his love for her, Madame Jolicoeur, quite justifiably, at times was moved to tears. Equally was his sweet nature exhibited in his always eager willingness to show off his little train of cat accomplishments.
He would paint a picture of Queen Guinevere in her gay sweet youth and bright innocent beauty Guinevere with her lovely face and golden hair, the white plumes waving and jewels flashing; the bright figure on the milk-white palfrey shining in the mellow sunlight that came through the green trees.
Perhaps I resemble her without possessing any of her beauty." "Ah, Miss Bawn," he said, looking at me roguishly, "'handsome is as handsome does." "That is so," I said. "My grandmother has often told me that if I am good and gentle no one will trouble about my looks." He turned suddenly then and he said in a singularly sweet voice "Dear child! dear child!"
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