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Updated: June 3, 2025
The Merringtons will bore him to death, and Adelaide, of course, will be philandering with Lender. Isabel. Boating? Warland. Oh, I was only thinking Where are the matches? One may smoke here, I suppose? It's only that Fred Langham asked me to go over to Narragansett in his launch to-morrow morning, and I was thinking that I might take Darley; I always liked Darley. Mrs.
There he found the man of iron, with his massive substance thoroughly warmed and attempered by domestic influences. And there was Annie, too, now transformed into a matron, with much of her husband's plain and sturdy nature, but imbued, as Owen Warland still believed, with a finer grace, that might enable her to be the interpreter between strength and beauty.
But to return to Owen Warland. It was his fortune, good or ill, to achieve the purpose of his life. Pass we over a long space of intense thought, yearning effort, minute toil, and wasting anxiety, succeeded by an instant of solitary triumph: let all this be imagined; and then behold the artist, on a winter evening, seeking admittance to Robert Danforth's fireside circle.
Lewis Darley to-night, by Fall River boat. John Oberville, from Boston at five P.M. Why, I didn't know John Oberville? John Oberville? Here? To-day at five o'clock? Let me see let me look at the list. Are you sure you're not mistaken? Why, she never said a word! Why the deuce didn't you tell me? Isabel. I didn't know. Warland. Oberville Oberville ! Isabel. Why, what difference does it make?
Through the windows, a geranium-edged lawn, the cliffs and the sea. Isabel Warland sits reading. Lucius Warland enters in flannels and a yachting-cap. Isabel. Back already? Warland. The wind dropped it turned into a drifting race. Langham took me off the yacht on his launch. What time is it? Two o'clock? Where's Mrs. Raynor? Isabel. On her way to New York. Warland. To New York? Isabel. Precisely.
"Tell me if it be alive, or whether you created it." "Wherefore ask who created it, so it be beautiful?" replied Owen Warland. "Alive?
So long, however, as he remained under his old master's care, Owen's lack of sturdiness made it possible, by strict injunctions and sharp oversight, to restrain his creative eccentricity within bounds; but when his apprenticeship was served out, and he had taken the little shop which Peter Hovenden's failing eyesight compelled him to relinquish, then did people recognize how unfit a person was Owen Warland to lead old blind Father Time along his daily course.
I advise you to pass through New York incognito on your way to Washington; their attentions might be oppressive. Warland. Confoundedly oppressive. What a dog's life it is! My poor Isabel Isabel. Don't pity me. I didn't marry yon for a home. What did you marry me for, if you cared for Oberville? Isabel, Don't make me regret my confidence. Warland. I beg your pardon. Isabel.
Nevertheless, there was a certain odd expression of sagacity that made Owen Warland feel as if here were old Pete Hovenden, partially, and but partially, redeemed from his hard scepticism into childish faith. "How wise the little monkey looks!" whispered Robert Danforth to his wife.
He seemed, however, to retain no very distinct perception either of the process of achieving this object or of the design itself. "I have thrown it all aside now," he would say. "It was a dream such as young men are always mystifying themselves with. Now that I have acquired a little common sense, it makes me laugh to think of it." Poor, poor and fallen Owen Warland!
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