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Updated: June 18, 2025
Colville's manners were considered perfect, especially by those who were unable to detect a fine line said to exist between ease and too much ease. Mr. Marvin recollected John Turner well. Ten years earlier he had, indeed, corresponded at some length with the Paris banker respecting a valuable engraving. Was Mr. Colville interested in engravings?
"You don't seem very happy either," said the child, watching her own face as it quivered in the mirror. "I should think that now Mr. Colville's concluded to stay, we would all be happy again. But we don't seem to. We're we're perfectly demoralised!" It was one of the words she had picked up from Colville.
For yours, because I am sure you must be relieved, and for well, for everybody's sake. Tell me all about it, please." And she pushed her chair sideways nearer to Colville's. John Turner bit the first joint of his thumb reflectively. It is so rare that one can tell any one all about anything. "Tell me first," Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence suggested, "whether Miriam Liston's money is all safe as well."
"Upon the whole," he said, without preliminary of any sort, as Colville turned and joined him in walking on, "I don't know any homicide that more distinctly proves the futility of assassination as a political measure than that over yonder." He nodded his head sidewise toward the palace as he shuffled actively along at Colville's elbow.
"But those are not the things that one forgets, are they, Miss Liston?" "Then I wish Sep could know somebody who would make him remember," answered Miriam, half closing the book in her hand; for she was very quick and had seen Colville's affable glance take it in in passing, as it took in everything within sight. "A King, for instance," he said, slowly. "A King of France.
But imagine the American spring abandoning a whole week of her precious time to the exclusive use of peach blossoms! She wouldn't do it; she's got too many other things on hand." Effie had stretched out over Colville's lap, and with her elbow sunk deep in his knee, was renting her chin in her hand and taking the facts of the landscape thoroughly in. "Do they have just a week?" she asked.
In a despatch of Lord Colville's, dated "Spithead, 25th October 1762," he says: "I have mentioned in another letter, that the fortifications on the Island of Carbonera were entirely destroyed by the enemy. Colonel Amherst sent thither Mr.
They were part of the chorus at one of the theatres, and they were going about to eke out their salaries with the gifts of people whose windows the festival season privileged them to play under. The silly spectacle stirred Colville's blood a little, as any sort of holiday preparation was apt to do.
They had not lighted the lamps because of the mosquitoes, and they had talked till her head dropped against his shoulder. Mrs. Bowen came in to get her. "Why, is she asleep?" "Yes. Don't take her yet," said Colville. Mrs. Bowen rustled softly into the chair which Effie had left to get into Colville's lap.
"I thought she was rather colder than usual." "Colder!" The chill of the idea penetrated even through the density of Colville's selfish content. A very complex emotion, which took itself for indignation, throbbed from his heart. "Is she cold with you, Imogene?" "Oh, if you saw nothing " "No; and I think you must be mistaken. She never speaks of you without praising you."
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