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She knew she was going to do well as well as when she sang to Lady Cardington, even better. She felt almost as if she were made of music, as if music were part of her, ran in her veins like blood, shone in her eyes like light, beat in her heart like the pulse of life. But she felt also as if she were still at a window, looking down a road, and listening to the sound of an approach.
"But if her looks remain?" "They don't." "You think it is a question of looks?" "Do you think it is?" asked Lady Cardington. "But how can you know anything about it, at your age, and with your appearance?" "I suppose we all have our different opinions as to what men are and what men want," Lady Holme said, more thoughtfully than usual. "Men! Men!"
The old caretaker of the tower was wont to say that she never knew a neater man than Professor Cardington, or a more disorderly room than his. The accumulation of articles in the room seemed to symbolise the owner's mental furniture, while his personal neatness was a habit acquired during his stay at West Point, where he had once occupied the chair of a modern language.
Lord Cardington told me himself that they were the most splendid political prose he had ever read in his life." "That may be true enough," Carraby growled, "but they make it all the harder for me. No doubt Portel was a good Minister. No doubt he was doing very well in his post. Now he writes these letters every one remembers it, every one is asking for him back again. It's hell, Mabel!
Leigh had too much reason to know that neither of them had much chance of winning her, and he thought he divined in Cardington not so much a lover's interest as a friend's deep concern on her behalf and an unwillingness to mention her name in casual conversation.
Cardington," she returned, "not so much because you have lost the bet, as because you were under the necessity of ending your sentence with such an insignificant word. I saw that you were groping for a polysyllabic finish." She was in the best of spirits, and prepared for the exchange of quibbles in which they sometimes indulged.
Lady Cardington had been with her during the act, but left the box when the curtain fell to see some friends close by. When Sir Donald tapped at the door Lady Holme was quite alone. He came in quietly even his walk was rather ghostly and sat down beside her. "You don't look well," she said after they had greeted each other. "I am quite well," he answered, with evident constraint.
When she thought of that she began to cry, sitting there by the stone balustrade of the piazza, to cry convulsively. She remembered her pity for old age, for the monstrous loss it cannot cease from advertising. And now she, in her youth, had passed it on the road to the pit. Lady Cardington was a beautiful woman.
Leigh, exhilarated by his good fortune, was impervious to the keen, malicious glance the lawyer had bestowed upon him, while Cardington, who had stood by during the whole colloquy in perfect silence, did not even now venture to seat himself, but looked down upon Felicity with the mute reproach of one neglected. "Mr.
It was evident that Cardington had not miscalculated their animus, for they hurled maledictions at the janitor, who stood waiting within, his watch in his hand, wavering between fear for the stability of the bolts and an unwillingness to disobey orders.
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