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Well, there it was for me to see in Eva Eversleigh's eyes that night at supper. It made me think of things unspeakable. I felt a rush of classic aestheticism: Arcadia, Helen of Troy, the happy valleys of the early Greeks. Supper: I believe I gave her oyster pates. But I was far away.
I have given up my rooms in Rupert Street. I sleep in a bed. I do Sandow exercises. I am always down to breakfast at eight-thirty sharp. I smoke less. I am the happiest man on earth. Narrative Resumed by James Orlebar Cloyster O perfidy of woman! O feminine inconstancy! That is the only allusion I shall permit to escape me on the subject of Eva Eversleigh's engagement to that scoundrel Julian.
It was with some little bitterness that Randolph took his seat in the crowded church. But this feeling, and even his attempts to discover Miss Eversleigh's face in the stately family pew fenced off from the chancel, presently passed away. And then his mind began to be filled with strange and weird fancies.
"I always feel afraid of Eversleigh, when that sallow-faced surgeon is his partner at whist, or hangs about his chair at ecarte," said one of the officers in Reginald Eversleigh's regiment. "It's my opinion that black-eyed Frenchman is Mephistopheles in person. I never saw a countenance that so fully realized my idea of the devil." People laughed at the dragoon's notion: but there were few of Mr.
The jewels, too, were worth more than all the trinkets Lydia possessed; and she knew that the treasures of Lady Eversleigh's jewel-cases were almost inexhaustible, with such a lavish hand had her husband heaped his gifts upon her.
"I mean that it is very nice for Lady Eversleigh to have a cousin who is so accomplished a musician." "A cousin?" "Yes. Mr. Carrington is Lady Eversleigh's cousin is he not? Or, I beg your pardon, perhaps he is her brother. I don't know your wife's maiden name." "My wife's maiden name was Milford," answered the baronet, with some displeasure in his tone. "And Mr.
Here she remained for some fifteen or twenty minutes, occupied with some task which required the aid of a lighted candle. At the end of that time she emerged, with a triumphant smile upon her thin lips, and Lady Eversleigh's letter in her hand.
The pallor of Reginald Eversleigh's face alone revealed the passion which consumed him as he received these most unwelcome statements from his uncle's lips. Fortunately for the young man, Sir Oswald did not observe his countenance, for at this moment Lady Eversleigh appeared on the terrace-walk outside the open window of her husband's study, and he hurried to her.
On the way between Lady Eversleigh's room and the lobby in the servants' offices, she had ample leisure to examine the letter. It was addressed "Mr. Brown, at the 'Hen and Chickens." It was sealed with a plain seal. Jane Payland was very well acquainted with the writing of her mistress, and she perceived at once that this letter was not directed in Lady Eversleigh's usual hand.
There is no sound of pleasant wedding bells to close my record with their merry, jangling chorus. Is it not the fate of the innocent to suffer in this life for the sins of the wicked? Lady Eversleigh's widowhood, Douglas Dale's lonely life, are the work of Victor Carrington a work not to be undone upon this earth.
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