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"You are Miss Wilming?" he said in his naturally pleasant voice, which brought old memories crowding upon her and a pale flush to her cheeks. There was a moment's silence; she dropped some flowers and he recovered them for her.
There's somebody here who wants to meet you, but Portlaw's got her somewhere. You'll take supper with us anyway! We'll find you a fair impenitent." Hamil stared at him coolly. He was on no such terms with Malcourt, drunk or sober. But everybody was Malcourt's friend just then, and he went on recklessly: "You've got to stay; hasn't he, Dolly? Oh, I forgot Miss Wilming, Mr.
A week later when the curtain fell on the second act of the new musical comedy, "The Inca," critics preparing to leave questioned each other with considerable curiosity concerning this newcomer, Dorothy Wilming, who had sung so intelligently and made so much out of a subordinate part.
But Dolly Wilming stood silent, head bent, slender fingers worrying her lips, which seemed inclined to quiver. The camp-wagon and led horses left before daylight with two of the Cracker guides, Bulow and Carter; but it was an hour after sunrise when Cardross, senior, Gray, Shiela, Hamil, and the head guide, Eudo Stent, rode out of the patio into the dewy beauty of a February morning.
Emilia was far from being carried away by the recollection of the scene; but remembering what her emotion had then been, she wondered at her coolness now. "I may speak of Wilming Weir?" he insinuated. Her bosom rose softly and heavily. As if throwing off some cloak of enchantment that clogged her spirit! "I was telling you of this dress," she said: "I mean, of Countess Branciani.
But a blue-hued moon slipped from among the clouds, and hung in the black outstretched fingers of the tree of darkness, fronting troubled waters. "This is thy light for ever! thou shalt live in thy dream." So, as in a prison-house, did her soul now recall the blissful hours by Wilming Weir. She sickened but an instant.
Malcourt's marriage to an heiress was the perfectly obvious incentive of the visit. And when they wrote that they were coming to New York, it amused Malcourt exceedingly to invite them to Luckless Lake. But he said nothing about it to Portlaw or his wife. Then, for another thing, the regeneration and development, ethically and artistically, of Dolly Wilming amused him.
Wilfrid considered, and named Wilming Weir. "And there we'll sit and you'll sing to me. I won't dine at home, so they won't susp-a-fancy anything. Soh! and you want very much to be with me, my bird? What am I?" He bent his head. "My lover." He pressed her hand rapturously, half-doubting whether her pronunciation of the word had not a rather too confident twang.
Emilia was far from being carried away by the recollection of the scene; but remembering what her emotion had then been, she wondered at her coolness now. "I may speak of Wilming Weir?" he insinuated. Her bosom rose softly and heavily. As if throwing off some cloak of enchantment that clogged her spirit! "I was telling you of this dress," she said: "I mean, of Countess Branciani.
Malcourt, in his arm-chair by the open window, lay back full length, every fibre of him vibrating with laughter. Dolly Wilming at the piano continued running over the pretty firework melodies of last season's metropolitan success a success built entirely on a Viennese waltz, the air of which might have been taken from almost any popular Yankee hymn-book.
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