United States or Bhutan ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
You must help me, Laetitia." "You are free, Clara! If you desire it, you have but to ask for your freedom." "You mean . . ." "He will release you." "You are sure?" "We had a long conversation last night." "I owe it to you?" "Nothing is owing to me. He volunteered it." Clara made as if to lift her eyes in apostrophe. "Professor Crooklyn! Professor Crooklyn! I see. I did not guess that."
I am not sure she did not send the identical present that arrived and returned once before: you know, the Durham engagement. She told me last night she had it back. I watched her listening very suspiciously to Professor Crooklyn. My dear, it is her passion to foretell disasters her passion! And when they are confirmed, she triumphs, of course.
The quickwitted gentleman accepted the correction: but in immediately paying assiduous attentions to Miss Dale, in the approved intriguer's fashion, he showed himself in need of another amounting to a reproof. Clara said: "We have been consulting, Laetitia, what is to be done to cure Professor Crooklyn of his cold."
His ability to silence her was great: she could not reply to speech like that. "You have," said he, "made a confidante of Mrs. Mountstuart." "Yes." "This is your purse." "I thank you." "Professor Crooklyn has managed to make your father acquainted with your project. That, I suppose, is the railway ticket in the fold of the purse.
"In that case I will take my leave of you here, Miss Middleton." She gave him her hand. "Why is Mrs. Mountstuart at the station to-day?" "I suppose she has driven to meet one of the guests for her dinner-party. Professor Crooklyn was promised to your father, and he may be coming by the down-train." "Go back to the Hall!" exclaimed Clara. "How can I? I have no more endurance left in me.
I certainly did not rank Professor Crooklyn among the possibly faithless, or I never would have ventured on Doctor Middleton at my table. My dinner-parties have hitherto been all successes. Naturally I feel the greater anxiety about this one. For a single failure is all the more conspicuous. The exception is everlastingly cited! It is not so much what people say, but my own sentiments.
"Professor Crooklyn will hardly descend, I suppose, from his classical altitudes to lay his hallucinations before Dr. Middleton?" "Sir Willoughby, you are the pink of chivalry!" By harping on Laetitia, he had emboldened Mrs. Mountstuart to lift the curtain upon Clara. It was offensive to him, but the injury done to his pride had to be endured for the sake of his general plan of self-protection.
Sir Willoughby was fortified by her sorrowful gaze as he and Clara passed out together to the laboratory arm in arm. Laetitia had to tell Vernon of the uselessness of his beating the house and grounds for Crossjay. Dr. Middleton held him fast in discussion upon an overnight's classical wrangle with Professor Crooklyn, which was to be renewed that day.
"It is a rough truth that Plato is Moses atticizing," said Vernon to Dr. Middleton, to keep the diversion alive. "And that Aristotle had the globe under his cranium," rejoined the Rev. Doctor. "And that the Moderns live on the Ancients." "And that not one in ten thousand can refer to the particular treasury he filches." "The Art of our days is a revel of rough truth," remarked Professor Crooklyn.
And in the drawing-room he lost such gaiety as he had. I was close to Mrs. Mountstuart when Professor Crooklyn approached her and spoke in my hearing of that gentleman and that young lady. They were, you could see by his nods, Colonel De Craye and Miss Middleton." "And she at once mentioned it to Willoughby?" "Colonel De Craye gave her no chance, if she sought it. He courted her profusely.
Word Of The Day