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Updated: May 8, 2025
White has undertaken, and, after such conscientious examination of his work as the importance of it demands, after a painful comparison, note by note, and reading by reading, of his edition with those of Messrs. Knight, Collier, and Dyce, our opinion of his ability and fitness for his task has been heightened and confirmed.
Well, Dyce," laying his hand on that gentleman's chair, "I scarcely expected to see you here to-day. Why aren't you at the club spread?" "Cousin Horatio! I suppose he's had a paralytic attack," interrupted Mrs. Chatterton, with her most sagacious air. "What's the trouble up there?" queried Mr. Dyce, ignoring the question thrust at him. "It's the little beauty Phronsie," said Mr. Taylor.
It was asked in a disinterested voice, the speaker's look resting for a moment on Lashmar with unembarrassed directness. "Mrs. Toplady told me about the will." Dyce paused for a moment, then continued, with an obvious effort indeed, but in an even voice. "She came to see me, after the funeral. Mrs.
"After all," she said, "you must remember that I am a woman, and if women don't express themselves quite as men do, I see no great harm in it. I don't think mannishness is a very nice quality. After all, I am myself, and I can't become somebody else, and certainly shouldn't care to, if I could." Dyce began to laugh forbearingly. "Come, come," he said, "what's all this wrangling about?
The Pepper entanglement can be explained only by saying that my cousin's mental faculties are impaired." "The rest of the family are afflicted in the same way, aren't they?" remarked Hamilton Dyce nonchalantly. "Humph! yes." Mrs. Chatterton's still shapely shoulders allowed themselves a shrug intended to reveal volumes.
Hollingford, partly under a canopy of smoke, lay low by its winding river, and in that direction Dyce most frequently turned his eyes. "I felt very much obliged to you," he said, "for your carefully written letter. But wasn't there one rather serious omission?" Speaking, he looked at Constance with a humorous twinkle of the eye. She smiled. "Yes, there was. But, after all, it did no harm."
Lashmar had urged upon Lady Susan the claims of her son to social countenance and more practical forms of advancement; hitherto with no result save, indeed, that Dyce dined once every season at the Harrops' table. The subject was painful to Mr. Lashmar also, but it affected him in a different way, and he had long ceased to speak of it.
As she tossed it into the garden and closed the window, the portiere of the library was drawn aside, and her maid approached, followed by a female figure draped in a shawl and wearing a lofty turban. "Miss Leo, Aunt Dyce wants to see you on some particular business." "Howdy do, Aunt Dyce? It is a long time since you paid us a visit.
"I chose the early train for the sake of coolness," answered Dyce, who shook hands with his parents. "The weather is simply tropical. And two days ago we were shivering. What is there to drink, mother?" Mrs. Lashmar took her son to the dining-room, and, whilst he was refreshing himself, talked of the career before him.
Dyce has put forward with such unanswerable certitude. He is a clumsy and coarse-fingered plagiarist from that poet, and his stolen jewels of expression look so grossly out of place in the homely setting of his usual style that they seem transmuted from real to sham.
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