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Her mother did not understand hardly loved her. Honoria loved her; but understood her even less than her mother. Pride the pride of intellect, the pride of self- will had long since sealed her lips to her own family. . . .
As "David" she could form a sincere and inspiring friendship with Rossiter which would be utterly beyond her reach as "Vivie." How pale beside the comradeship of Honoria now appeared the hand-grips, the hearty male free-masonry of a man like Rossiter. How ungrateful however even to make such an admission to herself....
For the first time in any excursion, the baronet deserted his accustomed place by the side of his wife. Honoria deeply felt the slight involved in this desertion; but she was too proud to entreat him to alter his arrangements.
But I think that, with those pretty hands resting on one's arm-chair, or that sunny face shining into one's study windows, one might be a very happy old fool and that is the most one can expect!" "I am afraid, my poor friend, you are far gone already. No wonder Honoria Vipont fails to be appreciated.
As they left the Metropolitan she threw back her wrap and sat with her neck bared to the intense cold. "I say, don't do that!" protested Langdon. She reluctantly drew the fur about her. But when she had dropped him and then Honoria and was driving on up the avenue alone, she bared her shoulders and arms again "like a silly child," she said.
My arm-chair, a magnificent present from Honoria, shaming the wooden fixtures of the poor room, invited to meditation, and perhaps the composition of some delicate periods. They formed slowly. Time, it is said, devours all things; but imagination, in turn, devours time, and, indeed, swallowed my half-hour at a gulp. The neighboring church-clock tolled nine. I was belated, and hurried away.
"It's a lie! Where is the girl?" "She is in the workhouse, I believe. I don't know who spread it, or how many have heard. But Honoria believes it." "Honoria! She cannot " He came to a sudden halt. "But, mother, even supposing Honoria believes it, I don't see " He was looking straight at her. Her eyes sank. Light began to break in on him. "Mother!" Humility did not look up. "Mother!
Mam'selle Honoria, as Camille, with clasped hands and tragic expression, stalks in a slow and stately manner towards the footlights. M. Dorinet, who should begin by vaunting his victory over the Curiatii, stops to put on his glasses, finds it difficult to read with all the candles on the ground, and mutters something about the smallness of the type. Mdlle.
An irresistible impulse led me to the spot where you had sunk down in your helplessness. From that hour to this you have been the ruling influence of my life. I have loved you with a devotion which few men have power to feel. Tell me, Honoria, have I loved in vain? The happiness of my life trembles in the balance.
What must be the past life of this woman, who, in the hour of her widowhood, had not one friend to come forward to support and protect her? The world always chooses to see the darker side of the picture. Nobody for a moment imagined that Honoria Eversleigh might possibly be the innocent victim of the villany of others.
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