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Updated: June 8, 2025
Ernest Law's "History of Hampton Court"; Strickland's "Queens of England"; Taunton's "Thomas Wolsey, Legate and Reformer"; and Cavendish's "Life of Wolsey." Here I am tempted to hark back to the modern manner of producing Shakespeare, and to say a few words in extenuation of those methods, which have been assailed in a recent article with almost equal brilliancy and vehemence.
Perhaps he did not talk very much, and I fancied there was towards the end a look of fatigue in the faces of the women on either side of him. They were finding him heavy. Once or twice Mrs. Strickland's eyes rested on him somewhat anxiously. At last she rose and shepherded the ladies out of one room.
Coutras followed her, but waited outside in obedience to her gesture. As she opened the door he smelt the sickly sweet smell which makes the neighbourhood of the leper nauseous. He heard her speak, and then he heard Strickland's answer, but he did not recognise the voice. It had become hoarse and indistinct. Dr. Coutras raised his eyebrows.
The Jardine fortune was not a great one, but there was enough for an heir who showed no inclination to live and to travel en prince, who in certain ways was nearer the ascetic than the spendthrift.... Before Strickland's mind, strolling dreamily, came pictures of far back, of years ago, of long since. A by-wind had brought to the tutor then certain curious bits of knowledge.
Cheap editions of Ouida, Balzac's works, yellow backs of the most advanced order, will, as a rule, reward the inquirer, who otherwise might have had to content himself with 'The Heir of Redclyffe, the Lily Series, and Miss Strickland's 'Queens of England."
The bank-book showed that if they economised through the summer by going to a cheap hill-station instead of to Simla, where Mrs. Strickland's parents lived, and where Strickland might be noticed by the powers, they could send Adam home in the next spring. It would be hard pinching, but it could be done.
When I reached London I found waiting for me an urgent request that I should go to Mrs. Strickland's as soon after dinner as I could. I found her with Colonel MacAndrew and his wife. Mrs.
It occurred to me that Strickland had concealed his address, after all. In giving his partner the one I knew he was perhaps playing a trick on him. I do not know why I had an inkling that it would appeal to Strickland's sense of humour to bring a furious stockbroker over to Paris on a fool's errand to an ill-famed house in a mean street. Still, I thought I had better go and see.
Strickland's clerk came back with the report that Pepper had been called away suddenly on important business. "They tell me he went Saturday," said the clerk. "He may not be back for a week. But he said he was going to buy the Atterson place when he returned he's told several people around town so." "Ah!" said Mr. Strickland, slowly.
"You know what it is: you suggested it!" "I did?" "You said it would make a good play." Martie's thin cheek dimpled, she widened her eyes. "I don't remember!" "It was when I was reading Strickland's 'Queens. You said that this one's life would make a good play." "Oh, I do dimly remember!" She knotted her brows. "Mary Mary Isabelle an Italian girl? wasn't it?"
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