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Such a woman was Nellie Eastlake. She was tall and winning. The marble heart of the Venus of Milo would have warmed in her presence. Shakespeare would have said of her eyes, "They do mislead the morn." Mrs. Eastlake was in sympathy with the Harrises in their keen disappointments. She possessed the tact to put Mr. Searles in the happiest frame of mind, so that he half forgot his mission to America.
When they couldn't get there they crowded into their borough towns, into Eastlake, at every opportunity, attracted by the gaiety, the lights, the stir, the contact with humanity. Before prohibition they had drunk at the hotel bars, and driven home, with discordant laughter and the urged clatter of hoofs, to the silence of star-lit fields.
He was glad to be there, but at indeterminate stations rather than in Eastlake. He dreaded, for no plainly comprehended reason, his return home. The feelings that, historically, he should have owned were all absent. Had it been possible he would have cancelled the past forty-eight hours; but Lee was forced to admit to himself that he was not invaded by a very lively sense of guilt.
Mrs. Grove was married, but that didn't keep her from the Malmaison, at what Eastlake disapprovingly called all hours of the night. She had no aspect of a servitude which, while it promised the most unlimited future rewards, took the present grace, the charm, from women.
Thus speaking Colonel Harris and his friends left the mayor and returned to their homes. After a visit to Niagara Falls, Mr. Searles and his party went on to Harrisville, where Mrs. Eastlake rejoined some friends and continued her long journey to the Pacific Coast. Colonel Harris met his daughter and Mr.
I am very serious about the romantic play it is exactly what I mean. I had read about great emotions, seen them since I was a child at the opera, and there was the Madrid affair; but that was so far away, and I never thought of the others as real; I never understood that people really had them, in Eastlake as well as Spain, until I watched Peyton miss his.
Mina is strangely sensitive, and, if you can find it, has a very tender heart." "I might do that over here," he suggested. "In Eastlake it wasn't possible. You've discouraged me, though; I suppose I had the idea that you could lock her up on bread and water." She laughed.
Fanny responded from Eastlake in a tone of unending patience; nothing he could do, her voice intimated, would exhaust her first consideration of him; she wouldn't how could she? question the wisdom of his decisions, even when they seemed, but, of course, only to her faulty understanding, incomprehensible.
And this has brought me to the reason why in spite of her splendid proposal I can't go back to Fanny: I have grown too detached to give her effort a possibility of success, of happiness for her." "If you are so cursed abstract, you may as well be in Eastlake as at La Quinta," his brother asserted.
The results may not be so charming, but you can learn by them. You can take your indiscriminate inheritance of Victorian rosewood of Eastlake walnut and cocobolo, your pickle-and-plum colored Morris furniture, and make a civilized interior by placing it right, and putting detail at the right points.
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