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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Things are very hard as it is," she said, reproachfully. "You needn't go out of your way to make them gratuitously cruel." "But, Miss Guion " he began to protest. "Please go in," she commanded, throwing open, as she spoke, the door of her father's room. Meanwhile, down on the lawn, Drusilla and Ashley were talking things over from their own points of view.
It was a sharp tone, the tone of a man who catches an irritating word or two among remarks he has scarcely followed. Temple apparently had meant to call it forth, since he answered, with the slightest possible air of intention: "Oh, nothing except what I hear." While Miss Guion and Mrs.
That had become something like a conviction with him; but to-day he flattered himself that he had made some progress in her graces. His own spirits, too, were so high that he could be affable to Guion, who appeared at table for the only time since the day of their first meeting.
Guion, Maxwell & Guion was a well which, while often threatening to run dry, had never failed to respond to a sufficiently energetic pumping. She had known the thought, however fugitive, speculatory, not dwelt upon as a real possibility that a day might come when it would do so no more. It was a thought that went as quickly as it came, its only importance being that it never caused her a shudder.
Third to quote your own words you're head over heels in love with her. It's easy to see that now, and now another of these reasons is uppermost in your mind; but it's also easy to see that none of them makes a conclusive appeal to Olivia Guion. That's the point." "The point is that I'm in love with her, and if it's not claiming too much she with me. We've nothing else to consider." "You haven't.
"That's not a reason for my imposing on your kindness; and yet I'm afraid I must go on doing it. I feel like a person in such desperate straits for ready money that he's reckless of the rate of interest. Not that it's a question of money now exactly." "It doesn't matter what it's a case of. I'm at your service, Miss Guion " "I know. That's why I asked you to come.
N-no; only that the care of big estates is a matter of great responsibility and anxiety." "That's what I tell papa," Miss Guion said, warmly, catching the concluding words. "It's a great responsibility and anxiety. He ought to be free from it. I tell him my marriage is a providential hint to him to give up work." "Perhaps I sha'n't get the chance. Work may give up me." "I wish it would, papa.
Then everything would be settled." "Some things would be settled. Others might be opened for discussion." If Rodney Temple had not lifted his eyes in another significant look toward Guion, Davenant would have let these sentences pass unheeded. As it was, his attention was directed to possible things, or impossible things, left unsaid.
She was able to collect herself, to put on something like her habitual air of quiet dignity, before she pushed open the door and entered. Guion was lying on the couch with the rug thrown over him. Davenant stood by the fireplace, endangering with his elbow a dainty Chelsea shepherdess on the mantelpiece. He was smoking one of Guion's cigars, which he threw into an ash-tray as Olivia came in.
Nevertheless, this insignificant frame locked up a desperate and daring character; this mild and inoffensive nature had gone pregnant seven years with a terrible crime, whose birth could not much longer be retarded. Francis Guion, the Calvinist, son of a martyred Calvinist, was in reality Balthazar Gerard, a fanatical Catholic, whose father and mother were still living at Villefans in Burgundy.
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