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Updated: May 18, 2025
Ingram on the subject of Beatrice. Mr. Ingram's report was not satisfactory. Delightful! She felt the imp of mischief taking possession of her. She was a girl of many moods and tenses. At times she could even be sombre. But when she chose to be gay and fascinating she was irresistible. She was only seventeen, and in several ways she was unconventional, even unworldly.
He saw her curled-back lip he saw her fierce resentful eyes. He heard her say it: "I think he is like a beast. He wants to ravage me like a beast." "You've been judged, Nevile," he said. "You've done for yourself. And now I'll go to bed." Ingram's face was very cloudy. He looked for a moment like quarrelling. "Do you mean to leave me like this?" he asked. "Yes," said Chevenix, "I do.
"Besides," she went on, "you would naturally be tempted to draw women like me, which would simply be courting extinction. Of course, in Ingram's novels no fashionable lady ever does the things I do, and the critics would insist I was an utter impossibility.
The paper had come by the afternoon mail, and had been delivered, according to weekly custom, by messenger from Mr. Ingram's office. Lois's tone and attitude tore fatally the whole factitious 'Parisian' tradition, as her hand had torn the wrapper. "See here," she said quietly, after a few seconds, and gave the newspaper with her thumb indicating a paragraph.
Spent the day in Detroit, and then went on to Chicago; stayed Thursday in Chicago, and went on Friday into Illinois, over the Prairies as far as Urbano. Came back to Calumet near to Chicago. Near Chicago I visited poor dear Ingram's drowning place. Alas!
Hardwick has this to tell of the days when he coached Annapolis: "One afternoon at Annapolis, the Varsity were playing a practice game and were not playing to form, or better, possibly, they were not playing as the coaches had reason to hope. There was an indifference in their play and a lack of snap and drive in their work that roused Head Coach Ingram's fighting blood.
Oh, she was right, she was right. Pish! And there's an end of it." He was aware of softly moving feet below a measured tread. He listened and heard them beyond dispute. "Nevile!" he said, "like a beast, padding about his place." He listened on, grimly amused. Let him pad and rage. But he was to be startled. A voice hailed him, not Ingram's. "Beg your pardon, sir." "Hulloa!" he cried.
But he found it strange that Ingram, in spite of his matrimonial intention, should still continue on such terms with this 'Cleo' as to be able to bring a friend to see her in the way he was doing now. Ingram's very readiness to fall in with the suggestion struck him as bearing some significance he could not yet fathom.
That fine afternoon April budding into May this lady listened to Ingram in the garden. Of all sounds in the world the sweetest music for her ear was made by a man's voice embroidering the theme "You are lovely, you are cruel, I die." Ingram's descant on the golden phrase was querulous, after his manner. He took his lover's smarts, as one must suppose them, hardly.
When, on their return, Miss Ingram refused to loosen her hold on The Scout's nose, Cuthbert apologetically mumbled Carter's name, and in some awe Miss Ingram's name, and then, to his surprise, both young people lost interest in The Scout, and wandered away together into the rain.
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