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Updated: May 21, 2025
That a prospective Brigadier-General should find his sole relief from solitude in the fugitive companionship of a Japanese acrobat seemed to me pathetic. Meanwhile there he was at Mansfield Court, lean and unlovely, but, as I divined, lovable in his unaffected simplicity, the very model of a British field-officer. At dinner on Saturday evening, he had sat between his hostess and Lady Auriol Dayne.
Dayne in this strange endless corridor; and knew that no services were asked of them. They greeted with little speech. Mr. Dayne told of the simple dispositions they were making. Chas explained how Mr. Heth had tried to communicate with Mrs. Mason, whom Mr.
He recalled what his pastor had said at the camp fire, and his own testimony on Institute Sunday in the life-service meeting, after Marcia Dayne had put it up to him. But he was making heavy weather of it. And just then came the pastor's knock at the door. There was a boisterous welcome from them both, with something like relief in J.W.'s heart, that he would not, could not speak.
There came the Reverend George Dayne, of the Charities, and hard behind him Labor Commissoner O'Neill, mopping his face as he ran. These two were known to the neighborhood, with their right of going in, and no questions asked. Out again came the ambulance surgeon, shaking his head jauntily at all inquiries. Out lastly, after an interval, issued Mr.
Marty was greatly troubled, for he knew if he was to be a preacher, he must go to college, and he couldn't see how. J.W. felt no great urge, though it had always been understood that he would go. Marcia Dayne had one year of normal school to her credit, and would take another next year, perhaps; but this year she must teach.
Had Marshall suspected the truth he would have said pityingly, "My dear Dayne, how can you be so foolish? why will you not be contented to live?" etc.... Such homilies would have been maddening; he was successful, I was not; I knew there was not much in him, un feu de paille, no more, but what would I not have done and given for that feu de paille?
There was no family here; friends' love was needed. But now there was only waiting.... Mr. Dayne, in Canal Street in his own business, had been at the Heth Works in the first uproar.
And when I did show thee some poor verses of mine, French verses, for at this time I hated and had partly forgotten my native language "My dear Dayne, you always write about love, the subject is nauseating." "So it is, so it is; but after all Baudelaire wrote about love and lovers; his best poem...." "C'est vrai, mais il s'agissait d'une charogne et cela relève beaucoup la chose."
It is our only chance of again possessing a dramatic literature. It is said that young men of genius come to London with great poems and dramas in their pockets and find every door closed against them. Chatterton's death perpetuated this legend. But when I, Edward Dayne, came to London in search of literary adventure, I found a ready welcome.
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