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Updated: May 7, 2025
Before long there was a general departure, and Lightmark, flushed with the triumphs of a conversation in which, in the very centre of an admiring group of his antagonist's worshippers, he had successfully measured swords with a notorious wit, turned to look for his wife; and, for the first time, meeting Oswyn's eye, half-involuntarily advanced to greet him.
Lightmark left him with a genial nod, and a moment later Rainham saw him through the window passing with long impetuous strides across the bridge. Then he returned to his desk, and wrote a letter or two until the light failed, when he pushed his chair back, and sat, pen in hand, looking meditatively, vaguely, at the antiquated maps upon the walls.
Lightmark in search of the old lady, Rainham made his adieux, leaving Lightmark still radiant, and protesting hospitably against such early hours; and as he walked homewards, with a cigar unlighted between his lips, he smiled rather bitterly, as he thought how little he was able to adhere to the tenets of his philosophy.
The cigarette case, which Rainham handed to his guest, was a well-worn leather one, a somewhat ladylike article, with a photograph fitted into the dividing flap inside. Before answering the question he looked at the photograph absently for a moment, when the case had been returned to him. "It's not a very good photograph. It's meant for for Mrs. Lightmark, when she was a little girl.
Bullen, my dear man, if it wasn't that you do know how to paint a ship's side, I would even go so far as to say that you have all the qualifications of an Academician." "Ah, if it comes to that, Mr. Lightmark, I dare say I could put them up to some dodges. I am a judge of 'composition." "Composition? The devil you are! Ah, you mean that infernal compound which they cover ships' bottoms with?
Sounds as of discussion floated down the wide staircase; and when the servant opened the drawing-room door preparatory to announcing him, Lightmark heard and it startled him a well-remembered voice upraised in playful protest. "No, 'pon my word, Mrs. Sylvester, my young scamp of a nephew hasn't done you justice, 'pon my soul he hasn't."
She broke off sharply, let her beautiful head droop with a movement of deep prostration upon her hands. "What have I done, what have I done," she moaned, "that this dishonour should come to me?" It was a long time before she looked up at him. "Why did he do it?" she whispered. "Have you never guessed?" he asked in his turn. "I will tell you, Mrs. Lightmark. I was with him when he was dying.
Charles, who had looked up sharply at the first mention of the name, which had so disturbed the usually imperturbable Rainham, fixed his interrogative glasses first on the latter and then on Lightmark, and finally let them rest, with an expression of inquiring censure, on Rainham, whose confusion savoured to his mind so unmistakably of guilt that "Gentlemen of the jury" rose almost automatically to his lips.
It was so funny to see Colonel Lightmark in that rôle, with that young Mr. Sylvester giving away the bride. It would have been so much better if they could have changed parts." "I am sorry to interrupt you," said Mr. Dollond, getting up and putting away his sketch-book; "I can't sketch; the place is full of locusts, and they are getting into my boots." Mrs.
There had been times when her pride had suffered for underneath her childish exterior, her air of being just a dainty little figure of Watteau, she had a very sensitive and delicate pride of her own and then, if she had succeeded in forgiving Lightmark, it had not been without an effort which had made it difficult for her to pardon herself.
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