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Updated: June 7, 2025
But looking at little Fyne seated in the room I understood that nothing would come of my contemplative aspirations; that in one way or another I should be let in for some form of severe exercise. Walking, it would be, I feared, since, for me, that idea was inseparably associated with the visual impression of Fyne.
"Yes," said Fyne; and in this instance his native solemnity of tone seemed to be strangely appropriate. "The convict." Marlow looked at me, significantly, and remarked in an explanatory tone: "One somehow never thought of de Barral as having any children, or any other home than the offices of the "Orb"; or any other existence, associations or interests than financial.
I expressed no regret at missing Captain Anthony and we proceeded in silence till, on approaching the holiday cottage, Fyne suddenly and unexpectedly broke it by the hurried declaration that he would go on with me a little farther. "Go with you to your door," he mumbled and started forward to the little gate where the shadowy figure of Mrs Fyne hovered, clearly on the lookout for him.
He made the remark that I should have said all this to his wife. It was a sensible enough remark. But I had given Mrs Fyne up. I asked him if his impression was that his wife meant to entrust him with a letter for her brother? No. He didn't think so. There were certain reasons which made Mrs Fyne unwilling to commit her arguments to paper. Fyne was to be primed with them.
Yes it was emotion, not the brilliant sunshine more brilliant than warm as is the way of our discreet self-repressed, distinguished, insular sun, which would not turn a real lady scarlet not on any account. Mrs Fyne looked even cool. She wore a white skirt and coat; a white hat with a large brim reposed on her smoothly arranged hair.
"She had not much in life to give her any very special courage for it, or any great confidence in mankind. That's very true. But this seems an exaggeration." "I should like to know what reasons you have to say that," asked Fyne with offended solemnity. "I really don't see any.
It had nothing to do with pedestrianism. It made you laugh at its transparent simplicity. But that authorship was revealed to me much later. I didn't of course ask Fyne what work his wife was engaged on; but I marvelled to myself at her complete ignorance of the world, of her own sex and of the other kind of sinners. Yet, where could she have got any experience?
He accepted ungraciously, remarking that he was not used to late hours. He had generally a bit of supper about half-past eight or nine. However . . . He gazed contemptuously round the prettily decorated dining-room. The difficulty of keeping up a conversation with that being exhausted Mrs. Fyne herself, who had come to the table armed with adamantine resolution.
As if anyone not made of stone could be perfectly sound in this world. And then how sound? In what sense to resist what? Force or corruption? And even in the best armour of steel there are joints a treacherous stroke can always find if chance gives the opportunity. General considerations never had the power to trouble Mrs Fyne much.
One of my regrets now is to have sometimes failed in this, usually out of mere shyness, particularly where great people were concerned. Here is another instance. When going to Inverary on the steamer, I made the acquaintance of a very pleasant Scotchman, who turned out to be the Laird of Lamont, on Loch Fyne side.
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