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Updated: May 17, 2025
She was a thoughtful, ripened woman, quick to perceive, and with the rare talent of judgment wherewith to weigh the proceeds of her perception. In plain, middle-aged Colonel Quaritch she found a very perfect gentleman, and valued him accordingly. And so day grew into day through that lovely autumn-tide.
When I made the promise I had not become attached to Colonel Quaritch." "Love! pshaw!" said her father. "Don't talk to me in that sentimental and school-girl way you are too old for it. I am a plain man, and I believe in family affection and in /duty/, Ida. /Love/, as you call it, is only too often another word for self-will and selfishness and other things that we are better without."
Only Ida kept back enough of the choicest coins to make a gold waistband or girdle and a necklace for herself, destined no doubt in future days to form the most cherished heirloom of the Quaritch family. On that same evening the Squire and Harold went to London and opened up communications with the Solicitor to the Treasury.
"Don't you?" said her father, "then perhaps you will read that," and he pushed the papers to her. As he did so another letter which he had not observed fell out of them. At this point Harold rose to go. "Don't go, Quaritch, don't go," said the Squire. "I shall be glad of your advice, and I am sure that what you hear will not go any further."
But of course there are some grand magazines which are known all the world over, and which no one should leave London without entering as a looker-on, if not as a purchaser. There was one place I determined to visit, and one man I meant to see, before returning. The place was a certain book-store or book-shop, and the person was its proprietor, Mr. Bernard Quaritch.
It was being driven, or rather led, by no less a person than George himself, while behind it walked the well-known form of the old Squire, arm-in-arm with Colonel Quaritch.
But of course there are some grand magazines which are known all the world over, and which no one should leave London without entering as a looker-on, if not as a purchaser. There was one place I determined to visit, and one man I meant to see, before returning. The place was a certain book-store or book-shop, and the person was its proprietor, Mr. Bernard Quaritch.
"Good-night, Colonel Quaritch," she said; "I am so pleased that we are going to have you as a neighbour. By-the-way, I have a few people coming to play lawn tennis here to-morrow afternoon, will you come too?" "What," broke in the Squire, in a voice of irritation, "more lawn tennis parties, Ida? I think that you might have spared me for once with all this business on my hands, too."
It's a bad climate, that Egypt, as I have good reason to know," and he pointed again to his white hat, which Harold Quaritch now observed for the first time was encircled by a broad black band. "Ah, I see," he said, "I suppose that you have had a loss." "Yes, sir, a very heavy loss."
"Edward Cossey has taken a wonderful turn for the better. They say that he will certainly recover." "Oh," she answered, colouring a little, "and now I have a piece of news for you, Colonel Quaritch. My engagement with Mr. Edward Cossey is at an end. I shall not marry him." "Are you sure?" said Harold with a gasp. "Quite sure.
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