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Updated: June 18, 2025
The next morning's sunshine dispersed the black mood of the night before; but enough of Colville's self-disgust remained to determine him not to let his return to Florence be altogether vain, or his sojourn so idle as it had begun being.
"Yes; I want them to come to-day. I shall not be excited; don't be troubled if you were going to be," he added. "Please send to them at once." Mrs. Bowen hesitated, but after a moment left the room. She returned in half an hour with a lady who revealed even to Colville's languid regard evidences of the character which Mrs. Bowen had attributed to Imogene's mother.
A sense of the girl's beauty lingered in Colville's thought all day, and recurred to him again and again; and the ambitious intensity and enthusiasm of her talk came back in touches of amusement and compassion. How divinely young it all was, and how lovely! He patronised it from a height far aloof. He was not in the frame of mind for the hotel table, and he went to lunch, at a restaurant.
The door of it folded back over the little window, completely hiding it. Turning on his heel, with an agility which was quite startling in one so stout, he found Colville's colourless face two feet from his own. In fact, Colville almost stumbled against him. For a moment they looked each other in the eyes in silence. With his right hand, John Turner held the cupboard-door over the window.
I do not say that it is quite free from the taint of business, but at all events it is news. Like yours, it has the merit of being at first hand, and you are the first to hear it. No one else could tell it to you." He broke off and rubbed his chin while he looked apathetically at Colville's necktie. "It has another merit, rare enough," he went on. "It is good news.
Colville wished to beat him, but Imogene took his rebuke meekly, and murmured some apologies about not hearing the piano before. He hurried her off without recognising Colville's existence in any way.
"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.
Colville's squadron arrived in Halifax on 27th October, Cook's thirty-first birthday, and as soon as the winter was over, and the ships were cleaned and fitted for sea as well as the limited appliances would permit, it left for the St.
"Of him, yes, but not of his race," answered Colville. "You mean the lad?" inquired the Captain, turning his calm and steady gaze to Colville's face. The whole man seemed to turn, ponderously and steadily, like a siege-gun. "That is what I meant," answered Colville.
For his mother had been a Clubbe, own cousin, and, as gossips whispered, once the sweetheart of Captain Clubbe himself and daughter of Seth Clubbe of Maiden's Grave, one of the largest farmers on the Marsh. "It cannot be for no particular purpose that the boy has been created so different from any about him," Captain Clubbe muttered, reflectively, as he thought of Dormer Colville's words.
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