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Updated: May 29, 2025
At last he spoke abruptly, after a long pause Miss Tresilyan's name had not once been mentioned "Hal, you know that old hackneyed phrase, about 'a woman to die for? I think we have seen one to-day who is worth living for; which is saying a good deal more." "You like her, then?" Molyneux asked. "Yes I like her."
First impressions are not made on women of Cecil Tresilyan's class so easily as they are upon guileless débutantes; but they are far more important and lasting. It is useless attempting to pass off counterfeit coin on those expert money-changers; but they value the pure gold all the more when it rings sharp and true. It is always so with those who have once been Queens of Beauty.
Those poor ghosts! They have no chance the mystics say against embodied spirits, if the latter only keep up their courage, and choose to assert their supremacy. Besides, they must, perforce, fly before the dawn. And what dawn was ever so bright as the Tresilyan's smile when she guessed from Royston's face, without his speaking, that she had won the day?
I hope this illustrated edition of rather an old theory has not bored you much; because it would have been just as simple to have said at once that, as the days went on in Dorade, and they were thrown constantly into each other's society, Major Keene began to monopolize much more of Cecil Tresilyan's thoughts than she would have allowed if she could have helped it; for, though she considered Mr.
Nothing annoyed her like Mrs. Danvers' obtrusive partisanship and uncouth flattery. The gleam of pleasure that shone out on Keene's dark face for a moment, only Harry interpreted rightly. He had scarcely listened to the words, but he thought, "I knew I was right; I knew the voice would match the rest!" When they moved on again, he walked by Miss Tresilyan's side, and "still their speech was song."
You made rather better time than usual over that story to-night, Hal; it's practice, I suppose." Tresilyan's eyes fastened on the speaker, full of a heavy, pertinacious admiration. You might have told him of the noblest action of generosity or self-denial that ever constituted the stock in trade of a moral hero, and he would have listened patiently, but without one responsive emotion.
In Mabel's nature, soft and yielding as it appeared, there was the black spot that nothing but harshness and cruelty could have brought out the utter incapacity of relenting, which had given rise to the rude rhyme known through three counties In Tresilyan's face Fault finds no grace.
But Waring's own singleness of purpose beguiled him more effectually than the most inordinate vanity could have done. Putting character out of the question, he thought a woman could only derogate by allying herself to one of inferior birth; and he knew his own blood to be nearly equal to Miss Tresilyan's.
An extraordinarily good constitution was ever part of a Tresilyan's inheritance; and if you doubted whether her blood circulated freely you had only to compare her cheek on a bitter March day with some red-and-white ones, when a sharp east wind had forced those last to mount all the stripes of the tricolor. By the way, are not the "roses dipped in milk" going out of fashion just now?
Still, on The Tresilyan's part, it was an immense effort of self-denial. She was well aware how she laid herself open to Royston Keene's satire, and how unlikely he was this time to spare her. Only perfect trust or perfect indifference can make one careless about giving such a chance to a known bitter tongue.
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