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Updated: May 9, 2025
"This is our dance, I think," he said. She looked up with a little air of surprise, and consulted her programme. "No; I think this is mine, Miss Falconer," said the man at her side. "No," she said, calmly; "the next is yours, Lord Bannerdale; this is Mr. Orme's." Though he knew she was wrong, of course Lord Bannerdale acquiesced with a bow and a smile, and Stafford led Maude away.
My brother said that on that same day, at breakfast, she pointed to a volume of Orme's Hindostan, the book, she said, which set poor dear Tom wild to go to India, I know you will be pleased to hear of these proofs of returning goodwill and affection in one who often spoke latterly of her early regard for you.
"You give us papers," replied the Japanese softly. "I have no papers that mean anything to you." "We see. Give them to me." "What papers do you want?" demanded Orme. "You know." Arima's voice sounded less patient. "But I have nothing that you care anything about," repeated Orme. At that Arima began rapidly to search Orme's pockets.
Orme's beautiful solemn face seemed almost a part of the classic surroundings, a statue of Fate shaken from its ancient niche; and the cameo Sappho on her breast was not more faultlessly cut and polished than the features that rose above it.
No; she assured herself that it was just a whim of Mr. Orme's, a passing fancy and caprice which would soon be satisfied, and that he would tire of it after a few days, perhaps hours.
He was an elderly man, with a face which would have been coarse but for its expression of acuteness and a certain strength which revealed itself in the heavy features. "Can you tell me the way to Sir Stephen Orme's place?" he asked in a rough, harsh voice.
I reasoned, however, that these responsibilities should not be considered by one who needed perfect command of himself. Moreover, although I had never shot at trapped birds, I reasoned that a bird in the air was a flying bird after all, whether from trap or tree. Then, again, I was offended at Orme's air of superiority.
I give this to you in return for the bill which was paid to you this afternoon." He thrust the new bill toward Orme, and waved his other hand rhetorically. "That, and that alone, is my business with you, dear sir." Orme's hand went to his pocket. The visitor watched the motion eagerly, and a grimace of disappointment contracted his features when the hand came forth, holding a cigar-case.
Orme's acquiescence he could always be made to feel the force of conventional scruples but because the whole question sank into insignificance beside the larger issue which his words had raised. In her own room, that night, she passed through that travail of the soul of which the deeper life is born.
A moment later Orme and Bessie had crossed the roomy veranda and were at the door, while the old man, still grumbling, swung around the circle of the drive and rattled away. Orme's heart was pounding. When the servant answered the bell, he drew back and he did not hear the words which Bessie spoke in a low voice. They were ushered into a wide reception-hall, and the servant went to announce them.
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