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Updated: June 14, 2025
Olivia, who prided herself on being unusually practical, pointed out its numerous advantages with great satisfaction. The side entrance in Harbut Street, for instance, and the front room where patients would be interviewed, and which had a window in Galvaston Terrace. "It is so conspicuous, Marcus," she said, with legitimate pride in her voice.
"No one can overlook it, it is worth paying a few pounds more rent, instead of being jammed in between two terrace houses. Harbut Street is ever so much nicer than Galvaston Terrace, and the houses are larger, and it is so convenient having those shops opposite." Olivia was disposed to see everything in couleur de rose, but to most people Galvaston Terrace would have appeared woefully dingy.
"The drawing-room with that beautiful conservatory opening out of it, and the plush curtains, and those luxurious couches made me feel so shabby. But I suppose the drawing-room at Galvaston House is still better. The glass door opening on the garden is so pleasant, and those Venetian cabinets and that carved settle are really beautiful." "Yes, and it would be such a pity to modernise the room.
There was plenty to do that morning, putting things tidy in the sick-room and straightening the sitting-room. In the course of the day some choice flowers came from Galvaston House with Mr. Gaythorne's compliments, and at tea-time Marcus dropped in unexpectedly, and they had a cosy half-hour together in Deb's spotless little kitchen; to her surprise he told Olivia that Dot was at Galvaston House.
Gaythorne will take a fancy to him; he is rich and liberal, I am sure of that; he will pay Marcus well, and perhaps before long someone else will send for him. What, Dot, my sweet, must I love Jacko too?" as Dot laid her treasure on her mother's lap. When Olivia rang at the bell of Galvaston House that afternoon the same rosy-cheeked maid admitted her.
There is an old adage, worn almost threadbare with continual use, "When poverty looks in at the door, love flies out at the window," and, doubtless, there is an element of truth in the saying; nevertheless, though there were lines of care on Marcus Luttrell's face, and in the strong sunlight the seams of his wife's black gown looked a little shiny, there was still peace, and the patience of a great and enduring affection in the corner house at Galvaston Terrace.
"Do you know, as I lay on that doorstep too weak and stiff to move, and the doctor bent over me, it seemed to me, in my dazed condition, as though it were the face of a beneficent angel. God bless you both, for you have made a man of me." And then he lifted the kind, womanly hand to his lips. Olivia missed her friends at Galvaston House, sorely, but she had more time to devote to Greta.
When Olivia woke the next morning she was conscious of a curious feeling; an indefinable presentiment that she could not put into words. "How I wish the day were over," she said to herself; and the thought of her visit to Galvaston House, and Mr. Gaythorne's sharp, cynical speeches, quite oppressed her. "I hope he will be civil to Mr. Barton," she observed later on to her husband. "Mr.
"I know what you mean," replied Olivia, thoughtfully, "but somehow I like him in spite of everything; Marcus, what a blessing it is to think that I went to Galvaston House this afternoon, and so I shall be free to-morrow," for Olivia's sunny, nature always looked on the bright side of things. That night a wonderful thing happened. The night-bell rang.
Luttrell, with a tired face and puckered brow, was watching the proceedings somewhat impatiently. A tallow candle was guttering uncomfortably on the table. "Is the fire out? Oh, Marcus, I am so sorry, but Martha and I will soon put things to rights. Will you go across to Galvaston House at once, please?" and here Olivia's voice was full of suppressed excitement. "Mr.
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