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"Hush, Emile! Not even Miss Townly if she calls, Selim." Selim smiled with grave intelligence at the big man, said, "I understand, madame," and glided out. "Why, in Heaven's name, have you you, pilgrim of the Orient insulted the East by putting Selim into a coat with buttons and cloth trousers?" exclaimed Artois, still holding Hermione's hands. "It's an outrage, I know. But I had to.
The poor fellow showed evident signs that times went hard with him; he was so finely and shabbily dressed. His coat was somewhat threadbare, and of the Lord Townly cut; single-breasted, and scarcely capable of meeting in front of his body; which, from long intimacy, had acquired the symmetry and robustness of a beer-barrel.
I always feel quite squeezed when I compare my poor little life with hers. But then she has such physical endurance. She breaks the ice, you know, in her bath in the winter of course I mean when there is ice." "It isn't only in her bath that she breaks the ice," said Mrs. Creswick. "I perfectly understand," Miss Townly said, vaguely. "You mean yes, you're right.
"Emile!" cried Hermione, getting up out of her chair with a sort of eager slowness. "Where is he?" "He is here!" said a loud voice, also speaking French. Selim stood gracefully aside, and a big man stepped into the room and took the two hands which Hermione stretched out in his. "Don't let any one else in, Selim," said Hermione to the boy. "Especially the little Townly," said Artois, menacingly.
"Oh no, not ugly!" said Miss Townly, with unexpected warmth. Though of a tepid personality, she was a worshipper at Hermione's shrine. "Her eyes are beautiful," she added. "Good eyes don't make a beauty," said Mrs. Creswick again, looking at her three-quarters face in the glass. "Hermione is too large, and her face is too square, and but as I said before, it doesn't matter the least.
It's surely the most natural thing in the world for a woman, even a very plain woman, to marry. I have always heard that marriage is woman's destiny, and though I don't altogether believe that, still I see no special reason why I should never marry if I wish to. And I do wish to." "That's what will surprise the little Townly and the gaping crowd."
When she saw Miss Townly coming sideways into the room with a slightly drooping head, she said, briskly: "Comfort me with crumpets, for I am sick with love! Cheer up, my dear Evelyn. Fogs will pass and even neuralgia has its limits. I don't ask you what is the matter, because I know perfectly well." Miss Townly went into a very large arm-chair and waveringly selected a crumpet.
And she kissed the dog's cold nose and repeated: "Supremely supremely happy!" Miss Townly, gracefully turned away from Hermione's door by Selim, did, as Artois had surmised, drift away in the fog to the house of her friend Mrs. Creswick, who lived in Sloane Street. She felt she must unburden herself to somebody, and Mrs.
She seems, indeed, to have been unusually interested in this comedy, for she consented to play in it notwithstanding a "slight Indisposition" contracted "by her violent Fatigue in the Part of Lady Townly," and she assisted the author with her corrections and advice perhaps with her influence as an actress.
Mystery is so very attractive." Miss Townly sighed. She was emaciated, dark, and always dressed to look mysterious. "Maurice Delarey is scarcely my idea of a mystery," said Mrs. Creswick, taking joyously a marron glacé. "In my opinion he's an ordinarily intelligent but an extraordinarily handsome man. Hermione is exactly the reverse, extraordinarily intelligent and almost ugly."
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