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Updated: May 6, 2025
"Garry, dear, read this and then make up your mind whether to come here or not. "This morning I was sitting on the Cardrosses' terrace knitting a red four-in-hand for Mr. Wayward he is too snuffy in his browns and grays! and Mrs.
These were either fragments out of the books he had read, which seemed countless to the young Cardrosses, or, what they liked still better, tales "out of his own head;" and these tales were always the last that they would have expected from one like him wild exploits; wanderings over South American prairies, or shipwrecks on desert islands; astonishing feats of riding, or fighting, or traveling by land and sea every thing, in short, belonging to that sort of active, energetic, adventurous life, of which the relator could never have had the least experience, and never would have in this world.
No. the most loving friend I have would not wish it for me." Then, suddenly, as with an impulse created by the sad events of the day the stormy night and the disturbed state of his own mental condition, inclining him to any sort of companionship, "Cousin, I am going to trust you, specially, in a matter of business which I wish named to the Cardrosses.
I'm worried, Garry; you are becoming too good-looking not to get into some horrid complication as poor Jim Wayward did; and now he's done for, finished! Oh, I wish I didn't feel so responsible for you. And I wish you weren't going to the Cardrosses' to live for months!" He leaned forward, laughing, and took his aunt's slim hands between his own sunburned fists.
Besides, there was a little hurrying and confusion consequent on the earl's insisting on sending the Cardrosses home, for the dull, calm day had changed into the wildest of nights one of those sudden equinoctial storms, that in an hour or two alter the whole aspect of things this region.
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