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Updated: May 2, 2025
Argemone had not time to finish her sentence before Lancelot had promised seven times over, and meant to keep his promise, as we all do.
And my dreams of naiads and flower-fairies, and the blue-bells ringing God's praises, as they do in "The story without an End," for the gross reality of naughty charity children, with their pockets full of apples, bawling out Hebrew psalms of which they neither feel nor understand a word? Argemone tried to look very much shocked at this piece of bombast.
Smith, I must really denounce you as a Communist. Lord Vieuxbois, shall we join the ladies? In the drawing-room, poor Lancelot, after rejecting overtures of fraternity from several young ladies, set himself steadily again against the wall to sulk and watch Argemone. But this time she spied in a few minutes his melancholy, moonstruck face, swam up to him, and said something kind and commonplace.
Why did Argemone withdraw her arm from his? He knew, and he felt that she was entrusted to him. He turned away from the subject. 'I wonder whether they are safe home by this time? 'I hope my father will not catch cold. How sad, Mr. Smith, that he will swear so. I do not like to say it; and yet you must have heard him too often yourself. 'It is hardly a sin with him now, I think.
'What a horrible ugly face! said Argemone to herself, 'but so clever, and so unhappy! Blest pity! true mother of that graceless scamp, young Love, who is ashamed of his real pedigree, and swears to this day that he is the child of Venus! the coxcomb! 'The dichotomy of Lancelot's personality, as the Germans would call it, returned as he dashed on.
'Welcome, Claude Mellot, and all lovely enthusiasms and symbolisms! Expound to me, now, the meaning of that water-lily leaf and its grand simple curve, as it lies sleeping there in the back eddy. 'Oh, I am too amused to philosophise. The fair Argemone has just been treating me to her three hundred and sixty-fifth philippic against my unoffending beard.
Yet the philanthropic motive is there, in that love is depicted as a redeeming power, a cure for selfishness, a balm for unrest; and the artistic impulse finally triumphs in the death of Argemone unwedded. In the hands of women-writers, love naturally tends to be depicted from the humanitarian point of view.
Proceeding from Caracas, we traverse, in the direction of the great barracks of San Carlos, a barren and rocky soil. Only a very few plants of Argemone mexicana are to be found. The gneiss appears everywhere above ground. We might have fancied ourselves on the table-land of Freiberg.
The superior's letter spoke of Argemone's joining her as a settled matter, and of her room as ready for her, while it lauded to the skies the peaceful activity and usefulness of the establishment. This letter troubled Argemone exceedingly. She had never before been compelled to face her own feelings, either about the nunnery or about Lancelot.
I will study no more, except the human heart, and only that to purify and ennoble it. True, Argemone; and yet, like all resolutions, somewhat less than the truth. That morning, indeed, her purpose was simple as God's own light. She never dreamed of exciting Lancelot's admiration, even his friendship for herself.
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