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Updated: June 8, 2025
And in the course of their conversation Mrs. Lyndsay contrived to drop into his mind the egg of a project which she took a later occasion to hatch under her plumes of down. "There is but one kind of wife, my dear Montfort, who could increase your importance: you should marry a beauty; next to royalty ranks beauty."
I think we could manage to put her up in the little blue dressing-room. She is so good-natured; she won't mind its being so small." "Yes, do; I want Lyndsay to see her. And give my best love to Aunt Eleanour, and say that if she is going to send me any more tracts against Popery, I should be extremely obliged if she would prepay the postage sufficiently." "Oh no, George, I could not.
The wise and brave Sir David Lyndsay was familiar with his writings; and he was not only occasionally imitated, but praised with enthusiastic eloquence by William Dunbar, that "darling of the Scottish Muses," whose poetical merits Sir Walter Scott, from some points of view, can hardly be said to have exaggerated, when declaring him to have been "justly raised to a level with Chaucer by every judge of poetry, to whom his obsolete language has not rendered him unintelligble."
Fairthorn was the only being in the world to when Guy Darrell could speak of Caroline Lyndsay to whom he could own the unconquerable but unforgiving love which had twice driven him from the social world. Even to Fairthorn, of course, all could not be told.
And it was said that in her maiden day, before Caroline Lyndsay became Marchioness of Montfort, that smile was the most joyous thing imaginable. Absurd now; you would not think it, but that stately lady had been a wild, fanciful girl, with the merriest laugh and the quickest tear, filling the air round her with April sunshine.
And now I have found my real self, now I am awake, I want much more, and there is nothing only a great silence, a great loneliness like that in the face. And the theories I talked about are no comfort any more; they are just what pretty speeches would be to a person in torture. Oh, Mr. Lyndsay, I always feel that you are real, that you are good; tell me what you know.
It was just on the brow of the little hill which sloped gradually downward to the village beneath, and commanded a wide view of the broad shallow valley and of the rising ground beyond. I was glad to sit down on the step of the stile. "Are you tired already, Mr. Lyndsay?" inquired Harold incredulously. "Yes, a little."
Lyndsay. The bulk of Darrell's fortune thus settled away, he himself would be a very different match for Mrs. Lyndsay; nor was it to her convenience that Matilda should be thus hastily disposed of, and the strongest link of connection between Fulham and Carlton Gardens severed. Mrs.
Aunt Eleanour!" called the children once more. "I must go to them! But, Mr. Lyndsay, think over what I have said." And I remained and obeyed her, and beheld, entire, distinct, the spectre that drives men to madness or despair illimitable omnipotent Malice. In its shadow the colour of the flowers was quenched, and the music of the birds rang false.
Lyndsay worked up this complaint with adroitest skill. Was Caroline sure that it was not most dishonourable most treacherous to rob her own earliest friend of the patrimony that would otherwise return to Matilda with Darrell's pardon?
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