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Updated: July 17, 2025
"It's the only kind Miss Vernor deals in." "I prefer it infinitely to the most flattering falsehood imaginable," answered Denham. "I believe clergymen are usually the last people to hear the truth about themselves," continued Gerald.
People can always judge best of what they don't do themselves. And I will say that you do row well uncommonly well for a woman. I don't know a girl, except Miss Vernor, fit to pull stroke oar to you. Ah, Mr. Hardcastle, what an adorable evening you have provided for us! Mr.
De Forest caught her by the arm impatiently, as she turned from him. "What nonsense, Miss Vernor! What is the good of playing tragedy queen over a dead dog? I'll have him buried in a silver coffin if you like and raise a memorial to his inestimable virtues, but in the name of all that is sensible, do get on the horse again and let us have our ride." "Not to-day," replied Gerald. "I could not.
"Is that any reason why I should resort to you and kitchen soap?" "I grant it is a very homely remedy, Miss Vernor, but it is an excellent one and the only one I know." "I daresay. It is one more than I know of." "You will not try it?" "No." "Perhaps you are afraid of the pain attending the dressing?" It was a masterly stroke.
Gerald, my dear sister, is Miss Phebe's idol; I rather think she says her prayers before Gerald's picture every night." "Oh, please!" cried Phebe. "But who is this Gerald?" asked Mrs. Whittridge. "Does he live here?" "No, Soeur Angélique, and by the way he is not he at all, but she, and will be known in history as Miss Geraldine Vernor.
Pickering's secret was, of course, his engagement to Miss Vernor; it was natural enough that he should have been unable to bring himself to talk of it to Madame Blumenthal. The simple sweetness of this young girl's face had not faded from my memory; I could not rid myself of the suspicion that in going further Pickering might fare much worse.
"True, true," said her companion, thoughtfully. "I forgot that. And she probably will. It would be like her to go if it bored her." "Only there's Olly," said Phebe, grimly, the light fading out of her face a little. "She'll have to stay for him." "Oh, no. She can put him to board somewhere and leave him. Miss Vernor doesn't concern herself overmuch with the young ones.
"Would you have thrown Olly's marbles into the lake?" "No," replied Halloway, looking steadily back at her. "Then you would have been very foolish," said Gerald, haughtily. "It was the only way to touch him. I was quite right to do it." "You should be the best judge of your actions, Miss Vernor." Gerald bowed without answer, and moved past him like an offended duchess.
Vernor is in what is called the Eastern trade, and has been living these many years at Smyrna. Isabel has grown up there in a white-walled garden, in an orange grove, between her father and her governess. She is a good deal my junior; six months ago she was seventeen; when she is eighteen we are to marry."
"But, Miss Vernor!" expostulated De Forest, "for heaven's sake don't take it so to heart. It's unfortunate, of course, but no one is to blame. Do put the thing down. It's dead. You can't do any thing more for it." "I know it," said Gerald. "I did all I could; I killed him. But you'll have to excuse me, Mr. De Forest, I can't ride."
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