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Updated: June 8, 2025
It was told you by some old beau who lives upon the memory of the past." Ladies, a score of different daguerrotypes of Lillian Colfax are in existence. And whatever may be said of portraits, daguerrotypes do not flatter. All the town admitted that she was beautiful. All the town knew that she was the daughter of old Judge Colfax's overseer at Halcyondale.
The painting of Angelica Kauffman, Cipriani, Pergolesi and the others, was charming and delightful. Nymphs and cupids, flowers, wreaths, musical instruments, and poetical little scenes, but never the head of a living woman! The bad taste of it would have been as apparent to them as putting the picture of Miss Marlowe, or Lillian Russell on a chair back would be to us.
I waited a moment before answering. The suspicion that had come to my brain was so horrible that I did not wish to utter it even to Lillian. "I think it must have been the undertow," I said feebly. "I felt something like a clutch at my feet dragging me down." Lillian's face hardened. Into her eyes came a revengeful gleam. "Undertow!" she ejaculated, "you poor baby!
Thomas B. Wells; Speakers' Bureau, Mrs. Mabel Russell; Congressional, Mrs. Lillian Griffin; the French, Mrs. Anna Ross Weeks; the German, Miss Catherine Dreier; the Press, Mrs. Oreola Williams Haskell; Ways and Means, Mrs. John B. McCutcheon.
His face would shine, he would grasp every actor by the hand, he would fairly fall upon your neck; but if business went down ten dollars on Wednesday night then look for the 'icy mitt' again. Big as he is he curls up like a sensitive plant when touched by adversity. He can't help it; he's really a child a big, fat boy. But come, we must now consider the cuts for Lillian; then to our scenario."
As this theory gained strength, their ardor in the search declined, and Lillian and Julian realized that more than ever the child's restoration would depend on their individual exertions. The effort came to seem an obsession on the part of Bayne.
"Lay down your pencils and talk to me," said Beatrice, imperiously. "How unkind of you, the only human being in this place who can talk, to come here all by yourself! What do you think was to become of me?" "I thought you were reading to mamma," said Lillian, quietly. "Reading!" exclaimed Beatrice.
An especially aggravating collection of romance shatterers awaited me the morning after our visit to the theatre, and my first encounter with Lillian Gale. Dicky took a hurried breakfast and rushed off to the studio, while I spent a dreary forenoon washing the dishes and putting the apartment to rights. I dreaded the discussion with Dicky at luncheon.
For Mrs. Colfax kept her room, and admitted only a few of her bosom friends to cry with her. When the last of the callers was gone, Virginia was admitted to her aunt's presence. "Aunt Lillian, to-morrow morning Pa and I are going to the Arsenal with a basket for Max. Pa seems to think there is a chance that he may come back with us. You will go, of course."
He said everybody'd call them that, anyhow, so we might as well make it official from the start." "We can call the language Svantovese," Lillian decided. "After dinner, I am going to start playing back recordings and running off audiovisuals. I will be so happy to know that I have a name for what I'm studying. Probably be all I will know."
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