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I had heard a distressing account of of Roger, from a friend in America." "I see," said French, on whom a sudden light dawned. "You met Boyson at Niagara that I knew and you are here because of what he said to you?" "Yes, partly." The speaker looked round the room, biting her lip, and French observed her for a moment.
Frederick Starr, "Holy Week in Mexico," The Journal of American Folk-lore, xii. pp. 164 sq.; C. Boyson Taylor, "Easter in Many Lands," Everybody's Magazine, New York, 1903, p. 293. I have to thank Mr. S.S. Cohen, of 1525 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, for sending me a cutting from the latter magazine.
He saw a sharp, though still young face, a thin and willowy figure, attired in white silk, a pince-nez on the high-pitched nose, and a cool smile. Unconsciously his back stiffened. Miss Boyson invariably roused in him a certain masculine antagonism. "I should be glad if you would tell me," he said, with some formality. "There are two or three people here to whom he should be introduced."
But you and I believe that they will pay it! that there are divine avenging forces in the very law they tamper with and that, as a nation, you must either retrace some of the steps taken, or sink in the scale of life. "How I run on! And all because my heart is hot within me for the suffering of one man, and the hardness of one woman!" Boyson raised his eyes.
There was in her, as in Boyson, a touch of patriotic remorse; and all the pieties of her own being, all the sacred memories of her own life, combined to rouse in her indignation and sympathy for Herbert's poor friend. The thought of what Daphne Barnes had done was to her a monstrosity hardly to be named.
Daphne always has her own way." The General said no more. Cecilia Boyson looked out of the window at the darkening landscape, thinking with malice of Daphne's dealings with the male sex. It had been a Sleeping Beauty story so far. Treasure for the winning a thorn hedge and slain lovers! The handsome Englishman would try it next, no doubt.
"His Eton tutor told him to go and see them." "I thought Miss Floyd expected him to-day?" said Miss Boyson carelessly, adjusting her eyeglass. "It was a mistake, a misunderstanding," replied the General hurriedly. "Miss Floyd's party is put off till next week." "Daphne is just coming in," said Miss Boyson. The General turned again.
That imaginative power, combined with the power of drudgery, which was in process of making a great lawyer out of a Balliol scholar, showed him something typical and dramatic in the two figures: in Boyson, on the one hand, so lithe, serviceable, and resolved, a helpful, mercurial man, ashamed of his country in this one respect, because he adored her in so many others, penitent and patriot in one: in Barnes, on the other, so heavy, inert, and bewildered, a ship-wrecked suppliant as it were, clinging to the knees of that very America which had so lightly and irresponsibly wronged him.
As he did so he saw dimly through the mist the figure of a lady, veiled, and wrapped in a fur cloak, crossing the farther end of the veranda. He half rose from his seat, with an exclamation. She ran down the steps leading to the road and disappeared in the fog. Boyson stood looking after her, his mind in a whirl.
French's voice from the back was troubled. "Ask him?" Roger pointed to Boyson. "Is there any legal way, Boyson, in which I can recover the custody and companionship of my child?" Boyson turned away. "None that I know of and I have made every possible inquiry."
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