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Updated: May 23, 2025
Then that lady thickened the mystery. She seemed very familiar with the man Severne had been so familiar with. That man contributed his share to the multiplying mystery. He had a muddy complexion, hair the color of dirt, a long nose, a hatchet face, mean little eyes, and was evidently not a gentleman. He wore a brown velveteen shooting-coat, with a magenta tie that gave Zoe a pain in the eye.
Next morning the little party met at breakfast. Lord Uxmoor, anticipating a delightful day, was in high spirits, and he and Fanny kept up the ball. She had resolved, in the silent watches of the night, to contest him with Zoe, and make every possible use of Severne, in the conflict. Zoe was silent and distraite, and did not even try to compete with her sparkling rival.
Presently, whom should she encounter but Edward Severne. She started and looked at him like a basilisk. He removed his hat and drew back a step with a great air of respect and humility. She was shocked and indignant with Ina for letting him be about her. She followed her off the stage into her dressing room, and took her to task. "I have seen Mr. Severne here." "He comes every night."
"Of course I did," was the worthy Severne' s reply; "and so she would, if she had had a grain of sense. See what a contrast now. We are all unhappy herself included and it is all her doing." "Well, young man," said Ashmead, drawing a long breath; "didn't I tell you you are a lucky fellow? You have got twenty pounds a week, and that blest boon, 'a conscience void of offense. You are a happy man.
"They are much better than we are; but you don't know how to take them," said Severne, with the calm superiority of success. "No," replied Vizard, dryly, "curse me if I do. Well, I did hope I had outgrown my mania, as I have done the toothache; for this time I had passed the fatal period, the three years.
She came, for the last time, to a certain turn of the gravel walk, where there was a little iron gate leading into the wooded walk from the meadows. At that gate she found a man. She started back, and leaned against the nearest tree, with her hands behind her. It was Edward Severne all in black, and pale as death; but not paler than her own face turned in a moment.
Severne, who was much pleased at this opportune illness, could not restrain his humor, and said it was a disorder produced by the fumes of gas. Zoe, accustomed to believe this gentleman's lies, and not giving herself time to think, said there was a great escape in the passage the night she went there. Then there was a laugh at her simplicity.
In mid-channel, ten miles south of Dover, she caught him in a lucid interval of non-smoke. She reminded, him he had promised her to give Mr. Severne a hint about Zoe. "So I did," said he. "And have you?" "Well, no; to tell the truth, I forgot." "Then please do it now; for they are going on worse than ever." "I'll warn the fool," said he.
So Zoe said to herself, "I need not make opportunities; after to-morrow he will find plenty." She had an instinctive fear he would tell more falsehoods to cover those he had told; and then she should despise him, and they would both be miserable; for she felt for a moment a horrible dread that she might both love and despise the same person, if it was Edward Severne.
Severne laughed good-humoredly. "Thus encouraged, who could resist?" said he. "It is so delightful to sing in a shower bath of criticism." He sung a sprightly French song, with prodigious spirit and dash. They all applauded, and Vizard said, "I see how it is. We were not good enough. He would not come out for us. He wanted the public. Uxmoor, you are the public.
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