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Updated: June 14, 2025
Often they cruised about in distant waters, for the young fellow from his earliest years shared with the elder an absorbing love of nature in all her varied and glorious forms; and in February, always in February, Verdayne found time to steal away from England for a brief visit to that far-off country in the south of Europe from which the Boy came.
Vasili had a scar on his face as long as your finger that he'd got defending the Queen from her husband's brutality, when he was the worse for drink, only last year. And Mr. Verdayne is so handsome. It is no wonder, Sir Charles " "That will do, Tompson," said Sir Charles, and he frowned. The fatal letter, carefully sealed up in a new envelope, and the leather case were in his despatch-box.
"What does Monsieur require?" he asked in accents which were at once civil and surprised. "Let me in," said Verdayne, "and I will do my best to explain." The man led the way to a delightfully large and airy room, half salon, half chambre
It will fortify Monsieur against the damp air." Laughing a little, Paul suffered the man to bustle about. The fellow was deft indeed, and soon Verdayne was glad that he had listened to his counsel. Midnight drew near and the porter turned the lights out, but Paul sat until cockcrow, smoking and pondering on the strange paths into which one's feet are sometimes led.
To be sure, it had not always been so, but Paul had outlived his vagabond days and had become thoroughly domesticated; yet there had been a time in his youth when the wandering spirit had filled his soul, when the love of adventure had lent wings to his feet, and the glory of romance had lured him to the lights and shadows of other skies than these. But Verdayne was older now, very much older!
As he passed through the lounge, carefully groomed as ever, his friend Barclay called to him. "I say, Verdayne! Join us to-night, won't you, old chap? We will be dining early." The cheery English voice was what Paul needed, and though he had all the week avoided the party there were three men now he gladly greeted them.
That evening, from the hotel at Lucerne, two telegrams flashed over the wires. One was addressed to the Count de Roannes, Paris, and read as follows: "Shall reach Paris Monday afternoon. Opal." The other was addressed to Sir Paul Verdayne, at Venice, and was not signed at all, saying simply, "A son awaits his father in Lucerne." That night a sudden storm swept across Lucerne.
And Paul Verdayne had thought that he had long since drained his cup of misery to the dregs. He knew better now. "Yes, I will tell you of your mother, Boy," he said, and there was a strained, guarded note in his voice which his companion's quick ear did not fail to catch. "But you must be patient if you wish to hear what little there is, after all, that I can tell you.
Not worth not worth a moment's glancing at. And the pink and white fluffy girl was saying to herself: "There is Paul Verdayne again. I wish he remembered he had met me at the De Courcys', though we weren't introduced. I must get Percy to scrape up a conversation with him. I wish mamma had not made me wear this green alpaca to-day."
He turned and stared at her. "Gee! What a peach!" he murmured aloud, in words which came wheezing from between thick lips. "I wonder if that's the Countess's lady friend she spoke of." Then, catching sight of Verdayne, and knowing him at once for the swell English guy he had met at the Savoy, he panted up and slapped Paul's shrinking back with his fat, white hand. "Hullo, Verdayne!
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