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Updated: June 13, 2025


'No doubt, dear, if dukes went about the world, like King Cophetua, on the look out for beggar-maids. 'I am so happy to think you are coming to Kingthorpe! It is the dearest old place. We shall be so happy! 'It will not be your fault if we are not, darling, said Ida, looking tenderly at the loving face, uplifted to hers.

We may guess how the Lassie we must give her a name, and that will do worshiped her King Cophetua in shoulder-straps. Had he not stooped from his well-won, honorable height, the serene azure of his blue uniform, to sue for her? In all the humility of her pure loving heart she poured out her thankfulness to the Giver of all good for this supreme blessing of his love.

And yet he loved her so dearly that it was hard even though he acknowledged that it was best to let her go back to the world by whose standards he felt he fell short in every way. "If I lose her," he said to himself, "I must remember that of course I ought to. King Cophetua and the beggar maid makes a very pretty story but it doesn't sound so well the other way around.

G , was "a real lady" that ideal rival she had been so long dreading in her lover's absence; and now that he had come, the rival had also come. Her brother dropped a hint or two about the lady: Mrs. G had the "shads," "vodles" of bank-stock and niggers, and she paid well for small service. If King Cophetua could get leave to escort her to head-quarters, Mrs.

I've worn my uniforms since I took my nurse's training, and before that I wore the uniform of an Orphans' Home. I I don't know why I am telling you all this only it doesn't seem quite fair, does it?" He had all of an old man's sympathy for a lovely woman in distress. He had all of any man's desire to play Cophetua. "Look here," he said. "You get yourself a pink parasol and a fan and a silk dress.

King Cophetua, who sends "profoundly grateful remembrances," has most surely written the letters he would wish to receive. "Mrs Meynell!" cries one reviewer, triumphantly. Nay, the saints be good to us, what has Mrs Meynell in common with the "Englishwoman's" language, style, or most unconvincing passion?

Georgie knew that Lucia had been thrilled and delighted to know that Olga so much wanted to come in after dinner and see the tableaux, so he found it quite easy to induce Lucia to nerve herself up to an ordeal so passionately desired. Indeed he himself was hardly less excited at the thought of being King Cophetua.

They were in the little sitting-room now, where tea was laid ready, and the twins sitting up to table. Mrs. Ledley was busying herself with the teapot. She answered absently that King Cophetua was only a man in a story, a king who married a beggar maid. "But it was only a story, Faith," she added earnestly. "One of those stories which couldn't end happily even if it came true."

"Nix on that King Cophetua stuff!" I curtly and vulgarly proclaimed. "Just what do you mean?" he asked, studying my face. "Kindly can the condescension stuff!" I repeated, taking a wayward satisfaction out of shocking him with the paraded vulgarity of my phrasing. "That doesn't sound like you," he said, naturally surprised, I suppose, that I didn't melt into his arms. "Why not?"

At this moment I thought I heard the handle of the door move, but there was a screen between us and it. I went on. "That is, if you still want to marry her, you know." "Marry her!" he said. "If she were a beggar-maid, I would be proud as King Cophetua to marry her to-morrow." There was a rustle in the twilight, and a motion of its gloom.

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