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He appeared to be considerably bored by his guests, and they to be aware of it. Miss Percival's arrival was timely, if only because she effectively chased out ennui. Chevenix, as if he had been waiting for her, jumped up and went to meet her. He shook hands. "Hulloa, Sancie!" he was heard distinctly to say. "By Jove, I'm glad to see you again."
She is queen of the world who is queen of herself." Then Sanchia saw Chevenix, and waited for him. "Philosophy what?" the cheerful youth hailed them. "Plain living, hard thinking, what? Upon my soul, you are a pair! Now, Miss Sancie, I can expect the truth from you. What's Glyde preaching? Heresy? Schism? Sudden death?" "He was talking about women," Sanchia told him. "Ah," the youth mused aloud.
But her father's bustling entry changed all this. She had not known of herself how susceptible she still was. Vicky had made her cower; but her father made her cry. He affected a bluff ease in his manner of greeting her. "Well, Sancie, well, my dear, well, well" and then he cleared his throat; but he did not dare to look at her.
"Now, Sancie," he said presently, in his usual direct manner, "how long is it since I've seen you?" She answered at once, without looking up, "A year and ten days." He shook his head. "That's too long. That's absurd. I don't like that kind of thing, as a man domestically inclined. But I've been a devil of a way. I wrote to you from where?" "From Singapore," she told him. "So I did. I remember.
"'Pon my soul, I don't know how we shall break it to your mother. I don't, indeed." He stared miserably, then caught her to him. "It breaks my heart to see you like this my child; it cuts me to the heart. Sancie, what are we to do?" She sat up and brushed her dry eyes with her handkerchief. "I know. There's nothing to do. It's my fate." This was rather shocking to old Mr.
He had four daughters, Marguerite, Eleanor, Sancie, and Beatrice; and when Marguerite was Queen of France, Eleanor became Queen of England, Sancie Countess of Cornwall and afterwards Queen of the Romans, and Beatrice Countess of Anjou and Provence, and ultimately Queen of Sicily.
'Unfortunate attachment. She's perfectly happy with that, and rather keen. Now all you have to do is to give a party, and I'll ask Sancie." Mrs. John thought that was too casual. "You mustn't treat her like a dancing man," she told him. "I shall call on her, and you can tell her I'm coming. We'll do the thing in form." All this had been done, and the call returned.
By God, and she's worth it. She's a wonder." "Pity," said Chevenix, "you've only just found it out." Ingram frowned, and waxing in rage, stared at his friend as if he had never known him. "You don't know what you're talking about. Why, she adored me. I was never more in love with a woman in my life than I was with Sancie." Chevenix tilted back his chair. "Oh, you had it pretty badly at the time.
He echoed her, whispering, "Not dead, Sancie, not dead, my child. Numbed. He'll warm it asleep, he'll kiss it awake. He loves you." She moaned as she shook her head. "No, no. He wants me that's all." "Well, my dear," pleaded good Mr. Percival, "and so he may. We do want what we love, don't we now? He's come to his senses by this time, found out the need of you. And I don't wonder at it.
"Hang it all, Sancie," he cried, "you can't have known me for eight years without feeling something." She looked up at him, and he saw that her eyes were full. "Oh, Nevile," she said, with a quivering lip, "don't let us look back. Indeed, I can't do it now." He put his arm round her and, drawing her closer, kissed her forehead. "My pretty one, we won't. I had much rather look forward.
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