Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 19, 2025
Christian Science was a more threatening danger. He pictured to himself the stare of amazement on the countenance of Mr. Dupré and the sniggering face of young Latimer who collected beetles and hated washing. But Mr. Dupré, Latimer and the members of the house eleven, were, no doubt, far off. Miss Lentaigne was very near at hand. He accepted Priscilla's offer. "Right," she said.
Nor did he venture to mention the name of O'Hara, the excellent, though occasionally inebriate, local practitioner. Frank, as yet unaware of the full beauty of the scientific Christian method of dealing with illness, was very polite to Miss Lentaigne during luncheon.
The day seemed very calm. It was difficult to think that there could be any real risk in going out in the Tortoise. Priscilla nudged him sharply with her elbow. Frank yielded to temptation. "Miss Lentaigne," he said, "will be quite safe with me."
Frank plucked nervously at his tie, unbuttoned and then re-buttoned his coat. He felt that he had been entirely blameless during the scrimmage on the gangway of the steamer, but Lord Torrington did not look like a man who would readily own himself to be in the wrong. "Your daughter, Lentaigne?" said Lord Torrington. "H'm, fifteen, you said; looks less. Shake hands, little girl."
"Priscilla Lentaigne." "P. S. I couldn't write while they were here on account of the thunderous condition of the atmosphere and not knowing exactly how things would turn out, which is the cause of your not getting this letter sooner. She says it's far more important really than uric acid or fresh air, and is thinking of going up to Dublin next week for an operation.
In Rosnacree House, along with Sir Lucius, lives Juliet Lentaigne, his maiden sister, elderly, intellectual, dominating, the competent mistress of a sufficient staff of servants. She lived there in her girlhood. She returned to live there after the death of Lady Lentaigne. Priscilla, Sir Lucius' only child, comes to Rosnacree House for such holidays as are granted by a famous Dublin school.
Frank's attention was arrested by the silvery sweetness of the tone in which she spoke. He had a feeling that she meant to convey to Miss Lentaigne something more than her words implied. Miss Lentaigne struck a match noisily and lit another cigarette.
Priscilla put out her right hand demurely. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. Her lips were slightly parted in a deprecating smile, suggestive of timid modesty. "What's your name?" said Lord Torrington. "Priscilla Lentaigne." Nothing could have been meeker than the tone in which she spoke. "H'm," said Lord Torrington, "and you're Mannix's boy. Not much like your father. At school?"
ROSNACREE HOUSE was built early in the 19th century by the Lentaigne of that day, one Sir Francis. At the beginning of that century the Irish gentry were still an aristocracy. They ruled, and had among their number men who were gentlemen of the grand style, capable of virile passions and striking deeds, incapable, constitutionally and by training, of the prudent foresight of careful tradesmen.
Priscilla began the course of diplomatic politeness herself. "We're delighted to see you," she said. "My name is Priscilla Lentaigne, and my cousin is Frank Mannix. We're out for a picnic." "My name," said the lady, "is Rutherford, Martha Rutherford. I'm out after sponges." "Sponges!" said Frank. Priscilla winked at him. The statement about the sponges was obviously untrue.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking