Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Carlyle's respecting the population of these happy Isles, who, truth to tell, care not one jot what Mr. Carlyle may think of them. The Reverend Thomas Glynde and his daughter walked all the way home without exchanging another word. In the Rectory drawing-room they found Mrs. Glynde, small, nervous, worried.
Mrs. Glynde did not know what she was doing. It happened that she was trying to rub away a flaw in the window-glass with her pocket hand-kerchief a flaw which must have been an old friend, as such things are in quiet lives. At this occupation she found herself when her heart began to beat again.
Glynde would urge Dora to marry Arthur Agar and Stagholme, without due regard to her own feelings in the matter, is a question upon which no man can give a reliable opinion. Certain it is that such a course was precisely what the Reverend Thomas had marked out for himself. He had an exaggerated respect for money and position a title was a thing to be revered.
We are all men of a world, but it depends upon the size of that world as to what value our citizenship may be. Mr. Glynde's world had always been the Reverend Thomas Glynde. He knew nothing of Dora's world, and lost his way as soon as he set his foot therein. But rather than make inquiries he thought to support paternal dignity by going further.
There would have been plenty of men ready to do it for half-a-crown." "That was my business," answered Jem coolly. "You promised, you swore, that you would tell Dora Glynde, my step-mother, and my brother Arthur. And you didn't do it. Why?" "I have given you my reasons it was too dangerous. Besides, what does it matter? It is all over now." "No," said Jem, "not yet."
But I still stare about me, and show visible disappointment when I am presented to a literary celebrity or some other person of newspaper renown." "Celebrities in the flesh are disappointing." "Not only that, but I find that many of them are just a little common. Not quite what we in the country call gentlemen." "Ah! Miss Glynde, you forget that Art rises superior to class distinctions."
Outside the precincts of the town they met my Lord Everingham and Sir Philip Glynde, who had met the Abbe Foucquet outside his little church and escorted him safely out of the city, whilst Francois and Felicite with their old mother had been under the charge of other members of the League.
Her delicate lips never quivered, but she took care to keep them close pressed. Only in her eyes was the pain to be seen, and perhaps that was why her mother did not dare to look. "There is no hurry," she pleaded. "You need not decide now." "But," answered Dora, "I have decided now, and he knows my decision." "Perhaps after some time some years?" suggested Mrs. Glynde.
She had come to London with the purpose of leaving Dora there under the care of her sister Lady Mazerod, and before she had talked to that amiable widow for half an hour the design was as apparent as if it had been spoken. In due course Dora and Miss Mazerod renewed a childish love, and at the end of April Mr. And Mrs. Glynde went back to Stagholme alone. It is probable that neither Mrs.
Glynde took up the newspaper again, and reread the brief account of the disaster. They were spared comment; that blow came later, when the warriors of Fleet Street set about explaining why the defeat was sustained and why it should never have happened.
Word Of The Day