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Updated: June 19, 2025
The less serious, or less worldly, especially the sentimental spinsters and matrons and romantic young, who had heard and enjoyed the rumours of Mistress Clorinda Wildairs' strange early days, were prone to build much upon a certain story of that time. "Sir John Oxon was her first love," they said.
For Anne poor Mistress Anne white-faced and shaking, was before them all, and with a strange adroitness stooped, and thrust her hand below, and drawing the thing forth, held it up to view. "'Tis here," she said, "and in sooth, sister, I wonder not at its falling its weight is so great." Clorinda took it from her hand.
Dinah and Vic certainly kept him in countenance, but Clorinda rather trifled with the sweets, drinking so much strong tea in her pleasurable agitation, that to an observer given to ludicrous ideas, her jetty face would have suggested the idea of an old fashioned black teapot, with her pug nose for the chubby spout.
Silently, and in the middle of the night, Argantes and Clorinda took their way down the hills of Jerusalem, and, quitting the gates, went stealthily towards the site of the tower. But its ever-watchful guards were alarmed. They demanded the watch-word; and, not receiving it, cried out, "To arms! to arms!"
Dolf felt certain that if he only came directly to the point and made Clorinda a bona fide offer of his hand with his heart in it, she would forgive him; but it required a good deal of resolution to make up his mind to that step.
She touched the divan's cushions with a shaking hand, gazing upward wearily perchance remembering that this place seemed ever a sort of throne none other than the hostess queen herself presumed to encroach upon. "You are too meek, poor sister," quoth Clorinda. "'Tis not a chair of coronation or the woolsack of a judge. Sit! sit! and let me call for wine!"
The applause was a genuine verdict, and the company after a time began to disperse about the house and gardens. A small circle remained, and, passing the silken rope, approached and narrowly scrutinized the picture. Among these were Theodora and Lothair, the chief patron of British art, an R. A. or two, Clorinda, and Lady Beatrice. Mr.
I could see you holding your own against them all, explaining things to them, getting excited." He laughed. His sister joined them, coming in from the next room. She had a proposal to make. It was that Joan should take over the weekly letter from "Clorinda." It was supposed to give the views of a perhaps unusually sane and thoughtful woman upon the questions of the day.
Clorinda snatched the broad straw flat from her head, and began to arrange her Madras turban with both hands, thus unhappily exposing some tufts of frosty gray that had managed to creep, year after year, into her wool. After this rather abrupt toilet, she drew herself up with a grand air, and marched forward to receive the strangers in a glorious state of self-complacency. "Mr.
Dolf made a hasty retreat through the door, calling on them to follow him, and Clorinda left five handsomely defined finger-marks on Victoria's hot cheek before she darted off to a looking-glass, and fell into a great burst of tears over the state of her treacherous turban.
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