He had scarcely ceased to speak when Mr. Fabian entered the room. "Oh! home so soon!" exclaimed Violet, starting up to meet him. "Yes; how is the father?" "There is the doctor; ask him." "Ah, Dr. Cummins! Good afternoon? How is your patient?" "Come with me into the library, Mr. Fabian, and I will give you a full report." "Where is Clarence?" inquired Fabian. "Up stairs somewhere.
No novelist of his century alas! this new century has begun without William Black had his power of painting a woman's heart and soul, or his deft grace in making the portrait at once real and ideal. I do not wish to overpraise, but the man who could draw Coquette, and Sheila, and Madcap Violet was, I hold, a master in his craft.
For example, if you want a violet of a very blue shade, and you take Methyl Violet and dissolve it in water and then add Aniline Blue also in solution, you find that precipitation of the colour takes place in flocks. A colouring matter which requires, as some do, to be applied in an acid bath, ought not to be applied simultaneously with one that dyes best in a neutral bath.
He remembered the pleasant summer days that he and Violet Hamilton had spent together, but he also heard the roar of the river in the misty depths of the cañon, and the crash of stream-driven pines. The familiar sounds rang in his ears, rousing him to action, and something in his nature responded. In the meanwhile there was a heavy silence in the room.
She had noticed the embarrassment of Violet Oliver and the anger of Shere Ali. It was possible that Sir John Casson had also not been blind to it. For, a little time afterwards, he nodded towards Shere Ali. "Do you know that boy?" he asked. "Yes. He is Dick's great friend. They have much in common. His father was my husband's friend." "And both believed in the new Road, I know," said Sir John.
"Get a cab, Tom," said Garrick turning his back suddenly on them and placing his hand on my shoulder as he edged me toward the hall. "It's too late to pursue that fellow, now. He's slipped through our fingers again confound him!" It took our combined efforts now to take care not only of Violet Winslow but Warrington himself, who was on the verge of collapse after his heroic rescue of her.
But what who ?" as Violet handed her a bunch of Scotch heather, her eyes dancing with mirth and pleasure as she did so, for at the sight of the flowers a crimson flush had suddenly suffused Annis' cheek. "You see what," she said, "and the who is Cousin Ronald.
It is those who are unwilling to stoop; or to be anything, or nothing, as God wants them to be, who have no comfort. "The Fable of the Oak and the Violet." In a large garden there grew a fine oak tree, with its wide-spreading branches, and at its foot there grew a sweet and modest violet.
"If you will be glad to have me love you," she murmurs, brokenly. "Glad!" And the tone tells the rest. He brings her back to the seat where they were so cold and grave a brief while ago. Is there any need of envying Polly in the great drawing-room? The rain pours in torrents, but it is a divine summer within. "Violet," he says, a long while afterward, "we have never been real lovers, you know.
He found the prelate alone in his study, calmly reading his breviary, while a pile of documents, letters and other papers lay on a table at his side. He wore a purple cassock, over which was a surplice of snow-white lace reaching to the knees. On his shoulders was attached a short violet cape. A pectoral cross hung from his neck by a massive chain of gold.