Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 22, 2025
Miss Millicent Chyne was waiting for him with that mixture of maidenly feelings of which the discreet novelist only details a selection. It is not customary to dwell upon thoughts of vague regret at the approaching withdrawal of a universal admiration at the future necessity for discreet and humdrum behaviour quite devoid of the excitement that lurks in a double meaning.
The man who never forgets himself before a woman is likely to be an absolute master of women. "I think," he added, "that there is nothing more to be said." There was a dead silence. Millicent Chyne glanced towards Guy Oscard. He could have saved her yet by a simple lie.
The Simiacine was sold, and the first portion of it spent went to buy a diamond aigrette for the dainty head of Miss Millicent Chyne. Guy Oscard was in the midst of the London season. His wealth and a certain restricted renown had soon made him popular. He had only to choose his society, and the selection was not difficult.
It was not that she feared one letter in particular, but the postman's disquietingly urgent rap caused her a vague uneasiness many times a day. Sir John's reply to her appealing little letter came short and sharp. She showed it to no one. "MY DEAR MISS CHYNE, I hasten to reply to your kind letter of to-day announcing your approaching marriage with my son.
It may have been that they knew that Millicent Chyne, surrounded by the halo of whatever story she might invent, would be treated with a certain careless nonchalance by the older men, with a respectful avoidance by the younger.
I cannot quite admit the possibility of failure." Millicent Chyne smiled. He had emphasised the last remark with lover-like glance and tone. She was young enough; her own beauty was new enough to herself to blind her to the possibility mentioned. She had not even got to the stage of classifying as dull all men who did not fall in love with her at first sight.
So Millicent Chyne looked in vain for that indulgence which is so inconsistently offered to women, merely because they are women the indulgence which is sometimes given and sometimes withheld, according to the softness of the masculine heart and the beauty of the suppliant feminine form. Guy Oscard was quite sure of his own impressions.
It is wonderful that our neighbours never learn to keep their enthusiasm for lawn-tennis in bounds until the afternoon." With that he left her, and the baron came to the conclusion, before very long, that something had "contraried" the charming Miss Chyne. The truth was that Millicent was bitterly disappointed.
"You know, Sir John," she said in confidence to him one day at Hurlingham, "I have always dressed Millicent." "You need not tell me that," he interrupted gracefully. "On ne peut s'y tromper." "And," she went on almost apologetically, "whatever my own feelings on the subject may be, I cannot abandon her now. The world expects much from Millicent Chyne. I have taught it to do so.
He was thinking of Millicent Chyne one misty morning while he walked slowly backwards and forwards before his tent. His knowledge of the country told him that the mist was nothing but the night's accumulation of moisture round the summit of the mountain that down in the valleys it was clear, and that half an hour's sunshine would disperse all.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking