Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: July 1, 2025
"It is a gentleman who who " His lordship thought it better, apparently, not to explain the exact circumstances under which he had met the gentleman. He shifted ground. "I was about to present him, my love. It is Mr. Caryll Mr. Justin Caryll. This, sir, is my Lady Ostermore." Mr. Caryll made her a profound bow. Her ladyship retorted with a sniff.
Craske, the poet, who stood at her elbow now, had described them in the dedicatory sonnet of his last book of poems. There was a sudden stir in the group. Mr. Craske had caught sight of Lady Ostermore and Mistress Winthrop, and he fell to giggling, a flimsy handkerchief to his painted lips. "Oh, 'Sbud!" he bleated. "Let me die! The audaciousness of the creature!
I covet neither the title nor estates of Ostermore. Their possession would be a thorn in my flesh, a thorn of bitter memory. That is one reason why you should not think me generous, though it is not the reason why I cede them. I would have you understand me on this, perhaps the last time, that we may meet. "Lord Ostermore, my father, married you, madam, in good faith." She interrupted harshly.
Caryll watched him with interest and appreciation, and what time he watched he was wondering might it not be better straightway to place the spy in possession of the letter, and thus destroy himself and Lord Ostermore, at the same time and have done with the task on which he was come to England. It seemed almost an easy way out of the affair.
The only ray to illumine the black desert of Ostermore's existence was the affection of his ward, Hortensia Winthrop, because in that one instance he had sunk his egotism a little, sparing a crumb of pity for once in his life for the child's orphanhood. Had Ostermore been other than the man he was, his existence must have proved a burden beyond his strength.
Caryll took his departure and returned to his lodging in Old Palace Yard. One more treasonable interview had he with Lord Ostermore in the library ere he departed. His lordship it was who reopened again the question, to repeat much of what he had said in the arbor on the previous day, and Mr. Caryll replied with much the same arguments in favor of procrastination that he had already employed.
Lord Ostermore, who had been in the act of raising his glass, fetched it down again so suddenly that the stem broke in his fingers, and the mahogany was flooded with the liquor. A servant hastened forward, and set a fresh glass for his lordship. That done, Ostermore signed to the man to withdraw. The fellow went, closing the door, and leaving those two alone.
The wild eyes lost some of their glitter in a look of wistfulness, as he pondered a moment the one sweet memory in a wasted life, a life wrecked over thirty years ago wrecked wantonly by that same Ostermore of whom they spoke, who had been his friend. A groan broke from his lips.
Caryll observed and with what interest you should well imagine that Lord Ostermore was still in a general way a handsome man. Of a good height, but slightly excessive bulk, he had a face that still retained a fair shape. Short-necked, florid and plethoric, he had the air of the man who seldom makes a long illness at the end.
The other wore no wig at all; his yellow thatch fell in streaks from under his shabby hat, which he had the ill-manners to retain until Lord Ostermore knocked it from his head with a blow of his cane. Both were fierily bottle-nosed, and neither appeared to have shaved for a week or so. "Now," quoth Mr. Green, "will you hand them over of your own accord, or must I have you searched?"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking