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Sir Richard grew purple in the face, but before he could speak, Mr. Grainger began to read again: "'Moreover, the sum of five hundred thousand pounds, now vested in the funds, shall be paid to either Maurice or Peter Vibart aforesaid, if either shall, within one calendar year, become the husband of the Lady Sophia Sefton of Cambourne." "Good God!" exclaimed Sir Richard.
Charmian rose, and stood looking down at me very strangely. "So!" said she, throwing back her head, "so, throned in lofty might, superior Mr. Smith thinks Love a trifle, does he?" "My name is Vibart, as I think you know," said I, stung by her look or her tone, or both.
"My dear Peregrine, your uncle is unique; there never was any one quite like him unless it were Sir Maurice Vibart, the famous Buck, though your uncle, perhaps, is not quite so coldly devilish; still, he's sufficiently remarkable." "How so?"
Round about me, in the dark, were imps that laughed and whispered together, and mocked me amid the leaves: "Who is the madman that stands upon a lonely hill at midnight, bareheaded, half clad, and hungers for the storm? Peter Vibart! Peter Vibart! Who is he that, having eyes, sees not, and having ears, hears not? Peter Vibart! Peter Vibart! Blow, Wind, and buffet him!
Peter Vibart, I hope she will laugh at you as I do, and turn her back upon you as I do, and leave you for the very superior, very pedantic pedant that you are and scorn you as I do, most of all because you are merely a creature!" With the word, she flung up her head and stamped her foot at me, and turning, swept out through the open door into the moonlight.
"I wonder," says Miss Vibart, with a faint yawn, "if at times she doesn't find that a trifle slow?" Then she grows a little ashamed of herself, as she catches Dulce's quick, puzzled glance. "It is a very pretty baby," says Dulce, as though anxious to explain matters. "And what can be more adorable than a pretty baby?" responds her cousin, with a charming smile.
Where my daughter Ireen is concerned it is different " It was a relief to Vibart when, at this point, Mrs. Carstyle's discharge of her duty was cut short by her daughter's reappearance. Irene had been unable to find a cigarette for Mr. Vibart, and her mother, with beaming irrelevance, suggested that in that case she had better show him the garden.
And when Sir Mark turns his eyes in the direction where Portia sits, lo! he finds Fabian gone, and Miss Vibart sitting silent and motionless as a statue, and as pale and cold as one, with a look of fixed determination in her beautiful eyes, that yet hardly hides the touch of anguish that lies beneath.
Vibart a man of honor like a knight of his old-time romances, high and chivalrous oh! I thought him a gentleman!" She did not speak standing tall and straight, her head thrown back; wherefore, reading her scorn of me in her eyes, seeing the proud contempt of her mouth, a very demon seemed suddenly to possess me, for certainly the laugh that rang from my lip, proceeded from no volition of mine.
Which done, he walked after it, and returned, brushing it very carefully with his ragged cuff. "And you are sure quite sure, Mr. Vibart?" he inquired, smoothing the broken brim with the greatest solicitude. "I stood behind a hedge, and watched it done," said I. "Then my God! I am Sir Peregrine Beverley! I am Sir Peregrine Beverley of Burnham Hall, very much at your service. Jasper dead!
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