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Updated: June 7, 2025
The crowd roared again. "Brava! Brava, La Pataude!" Yvonne turned away. "I don't like it. I don't find it amusing," she said, faintly. Gethryn's hand closed on hers. "Nor I," he said. "But you and your friends used to go to the students' ball at `Bullier's," she began, a little reproachfully.
Yvonne lay back in the corner; covered with all her own wraps and Gethryn's overcoat, she shivered. "Poor little Yvonne!" was all he said as he leaned over now and then to draw the cloak more closely around her. Not a sound but the rumble of the wheels and the wheezing of the old horse broke the silence. The streets were white and deserted.
When they were apart for days, there weighed a cloud of constraint on Rex's mind, which Braith's first greeting always dispelled. But it gathered again in the next interval. It rose from a sullen deposit of self-reproach down deep in Gethryn's own heart. He kept it covered over; but he could not prevent the ghost-like exhalations that gathered there and showed where it was hidden.
Suddenly there was a tremendous splash, just beyond the dropper, answered by a turn of the white wrist, and then the reel fairly shrieked as the line melted away like a thread of smoke. Gethryn's eyes glittered with excitement, and the colonel took his cigar out of his mouth. But they didn't shout, "You have him! Go easy on him! Want any help!" They kept quiet.
Even Elise looked vaguely troubled, though she always smiled brightly at Gethryn's criticism of his own work. "It is so very wonderful and dazzling, but but the color seems to me unkind." And he would groan and answer, "Yes, yes, Elise, you're right; oh, I can never paint another like the one of last June!"
He was a bird-like little fellow, with thin canary-colored hair and eyebrows and colorless eyes, and he was seated upon a campstool about two feet from Gethryn's head. He blinked at Gethryn. "These Frenchmen," said he, "have as many lives as a cat." "Thanks!" said Gethryn, smiling faintly. "An Englishman!
She had been taught by a good master and her voice was pure and pliant, although as yet only half developed. The little concerts they gave their friends were really charming with Clifford's banjo, Gethryn's guitar, Thaxton's violin, Yvonne's voice and piano. Clifford made the programs. In Rowden, Yvonne was delighted to find a cultivated musician.
The devil!" shouted the pale-eyed man, hopping in haste from his campstool and dropping a well-thumbed sketching-block as he did so. "Don't be an ass," suggested Gethryn; "you'd much better help me to get up." "Look here," cried the other, "how was I to know you were not done for?" "What's the matter with me?" said Gethryn. "Are my my legs gone?" The little man glanced at Gethryn's shoes.
Give me stupidity in a pupil every time, rather than cleverness," Harrington had said to one of his pupils, and the remark often rang in Gethryn's ears even when his eyes were most blinded by his own wonderful facility. "Some fools would medal this," he thought; "but what pleasure could a medal bring me when I know how little I deserve it?"
"No, you won't," said Rex; "drop 'em, old boy, don't express 'em. Here we are that's enough, isn't it, Shakespeare?" The bird had climbed to Gethryn's shoulder and was cocking his eye fondly at Clifford. They were dear friends. Once he had walked up Clifford's arm and had grabbed him by the ear, for which Clifford, more in sorrow than in anger, soaked him in cold water.
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