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Updated: May 10, 2025
Saltram." To a correct view of this subject Adela Branston's eyes were not to be opened in any wise. She was wilfully, resolutely blind, clinging to the hope that this cruel neglect on John Saltram's part arose only from his delicacy of feeling, and tender care for her reputation.
In this scene of confusion there was no one to answer Mr. Saltram's eager inquires about those travellers whom he had pursued to this point. He did contrive, just about ten minutes before the vessel sailed, to capture the ubiquitous steward by the button-hole, and to ask for tidings of Mr. Nowell, before that excited functionary could wrench himself away. "Mr.
They were letters about very insignificant affairs; the renewal of a lease or two; the reinvestment of a sum of money that had been lent on mortgage, and had fallen in lately; transactions that scarcely called for the employment of Mr. Saltram's intellectual powers.
Even Gilbert was fain to forget his own troubles and enjoy life a little in that agreeable society. The two gentlemen accompanied the ladies back to the drawing-room. There was a grand piano in the front room, and to this Adela Branston went at Mr. Saltram's request, and began to play some of Handel's oratorio music, while he stood beside the piano, talking to her as she played. Mrs.
She had fancied that the cab would drive straight to Mr. Saltram's door. The busy lawyers flitting across those grave courts and passages turned to glance curiously at the pretty little widow.
Branston's face, which had grown deadly pale when Gilbert first spoke of John Saltram's illness. The pretty childish lips quivered a little, and her companion knew that she was suffering keenly. "Have you any idea who the lady is?" she asked quietly, and with more self-command than Gilbert had expected from her. "I have some idea." "It is no one whom I know, I suppose?"
First I sacrificed honour, friendship, everything to win her; and then I got tired of my prize. It is my nature, I suppose; but I loved her all the time; she had twined herself about my heart somehow. I knew it when she was lost." "What have you done with her?" repeated Gilbert, in a low stern voice, with his grasp upon John Saltram's arm. "What have I done with her? I forget.
Then very angrily honestly and gallantly, "Hand it to the devil!" he broke out; with which he clapped the hat on his head and left me. "Will you read it or not?" I said to Ruth Anvoy, at Wimbledon, when I had told her the story of Mrs. Saltram's visit. She debated for a time probably of the briefest, but long enough to make me nervous. "Have you brought it with you?" "No indeed.
Saltram's career, his debts, his love of gambling, his dealings with money-lenders, and other foibles common to the rake's progress. It was rather a hard battle for the lonely little woman to fight, but she had fortune on her side; and at the worst, her kinsfolk treated her with a certain deference, even while they were doing their utmost to worry her into an untimely grave.
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