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Updated: May 17, 2025
'I've ordered the dog-cart, says the latter, in the course of breakfast, to Lippa, who is sitting next him, 'because I thought we might leave the old people to go by themselves. I've got an awfully good animal, which I should like you to see, what! My sister and Dalrymple will come too, and we can go where we please.
Dalrymple for a few minutes, if the hour were not inconvenient.
For the passion of a strong man is loving and taking, and the passion of a good woman is loving and giving. Dalrymple reasoned well enough, later, too well, perhaps, but during those hours he spent alone on that day, there was no power of reasoning in him. The world was the woman he loved, and the world's orbit was but the circle of his clasping arms.
She felt chilly now, and she wished that she had some of that same stinging, warming stuff. Something moved, somewhere in the house. The girl listened intently for a moment. Probably Dalrymple had come back and was moving about in his room, washing his hands, as he always did before supper, and taking off his heavy boots. His room was immediately under hers, facing in the same direction.
Scarcely had she dared to hold an opinion on anything save under her mother's direction, and so when it came about that the tricksy god of love made her give her heart passionately and utterly to a man of whom her parents disapproved, poor Janet Dalrymple must have felt as though she were the victim of a sort of moral earthquake.
Conway Dalrymple, who had made his way almost up to Clara's seat, turned round sharply towards his easel, in anger at having been disturbed. He should have been more grateful for all that his Isaac had done for him, and have recognised the fact that the fault had been with himself. Mrs Broughton had been twelve minutes out of the room.
"I see, ma'am, that for some reason or other you doubt my word. Would you put confidence in it if another person were to confirm what I have said?" "That depends entirely upon who the other person may be." "The person I mean is Lord Hawbury." "Lord Hawbury? Indeed!" said Lady Dalrymple, in some surprise. "But he's in Rome." "No, ma'am, he's not. He's here in this hotel." "In this hotel? Here?"
"It was of you I was thinking, Dobbs," she replied; "not of myself. I care little for such gatherings." After that she retired to her own room with a romantic tear in each eye, and told herself that, had chance thrown Conway Dalrymple into her way before she had seen Dobbs Broughton, she would have been the happiest woman in the world.
Dalrymple, there is little doubt, never forgave Cook for taking his place, and later on showed his resentment by an unfair statement which will be presently alluded to.
"When I was a girl of twenty, living at home with my father and mother, I had a curiously distinct dream one night about a certain Mr Dalrymple. We knew no one of that name, but in my dream he appeared to be a lifelong friend. He was a clergyman, about sixty years of age not handsome, but with a kind, clever face. He had grey hair, and heavy black eyebrows almost meeting over his nose.
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