Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 28, 2025
It did her no harm, Cecil thought, to learn the framework of society, while society itself was absent on the golf-links or the moors. The weather was cool, and it did her no harm. In spite of the season, Mrs. Vyse managed to scrape together a dinner-party consisting entirely of the grandchildren of famous people. The food was poor, but the talk had a witty weariness that impressed the girl.
Another pause, while Vyse began to classify the letters. "And I suppose," Betton continued in a steady tone, "your anxiety made you forget your usual precautions whatever they were about this Florida correspondence, and before you'd had time to prevent it the Swazee post-office blundered?" Vyse lifted his head with a quick movement. "What do you mean?" he asked, pushing his chair back.
Vyse departed just after Betton had despatched to Florida his second missive of entreaty, and for ten days he tasted the furtive joy of a first perusal of his letters. The answer from Florida was not among them; but Betton said to himself "She's thinking it over," and delay, in that light, seemed favourable.
Vyse was silent, and the novelist continued irritably: "Damned cheek, his writing, if he doesn't like the book. Who cares what he thinks about it, anyhow?" And his morning ride was embittered by the discovery that it was unexpectedly disagreeable to have Vyse read any letters which did not express unqualified praise of his books.
"No, I haven't," said Vyse; "but it will be awfully jolly finding out." There was a pause, groping and desperate on Betton's part, sardonically calm on his visitor's. "You you've given up writing altogether?" Betton continued. "Yes; we've changed places, as it were." Vyse paused. "But about these letters you dictate the answers?" "Lord, no!
"Mrs. Vyse and her son have gone to Rome," said Lucy, giving the news that interested her least. "Do you know the Vyses?" "Oh, not that way back. We can never have too much of the dear Piazza Signoria." "They're nice people, the Vyses. So clever my idea of what's really clever. Don't you long to be in Rome?" "I die for it!" The Piazza Signoria is too stony to be brilliant.
Did he at all know what he wanted to do? He was equally uncertain, but when pressed remarked that he should prefer to be quite free of any profession. Margaret was not shocked, but went on sewing for a few minutes before she replied: "I was thinking of Mr. Vyse. He never strikes me as particularly happy."
"Hang it all, I sha'n't be sorry. They interest me. They're remarkable letters." And Vyse, without observation, returned to his writings. The spring, that year, was delicious to Betton. His college professor continued to address him tersely but cogently at fixed intervals, and twice a week eight serried pages came from Florida.
Miss Bartlett was in the drawing-room, gazing at the photograph of St. John ascending, which had been framed. "How dreadful!" she murmured, "how more than dreadful, if Mr. Vyse should come to hear of it from some other source." "Oh, no, Charlotte," said the girl, entering the battle. "George Emerson is all right, and what other source is there?" Miss Bartlett considered. "For instance, the driver.
Betton stared at him with eyes wrinkled by amusement. "Perhaps she hadn't disappeared then." Vyse disregarded the conjecture. "Look here I believe all these letters are a hoax," he broke out. Betton stared at him with a face that turned slowly red and angry. "What are you talking about? All what letters?" "These I've spread out here: I've been comparing them.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking