No, he was not as handsome as poor Wrotham, whose dark, stormy beauty troubled her dreams a little. Wrotham was a romantic figure, particularly when his black locks were disheveled through his clutching them in despair.
For a perilous moment, she hovered on the brink of losing her temper, but her ever- ready sense of the absurd came to her rescue, and instead of yielding to the impulse to come to points with him she broke into sudden laughter, and said: ‘How unhandsome of you to have given me such a set- down, when I had already begged your pardon!’ ‘How unjust of you to accuse me of giving you a set- down when all I did was to agree with you!’ he retorted.
He’s bookish,’ explained Sir Ralph, torn between pride in his son’s scholastic attainments and the horrid fear that he had fathered a miscreature. ‘Worst seat in the county! But there! No accounting for tastes, eh? Take my daughter, Lizzie! Never opened a book in her life, but rides with a light hand and an easy bit, and handles the reins in form.
Tiffany?’ exclaimed Mrs Underhill incredulously. ‘Why, she’s got no more notion of propriety than the kitchen cat!
She could scarcely help admiring his appearance, but she had not fallen in love with his face, or his figure, and certainly not with his air of elegance. He had considerable charm of manner, but she decided that it was not that either. She thought it might be the humour that lurked in his eyes, or perhaps his smile.
True it is, miss, though I blush to say it! With his own eyes did Totton see him!’‘He could hardly have seen him with anyone else’s eyes!’ snapped Miss Trent, her temper fraying.
But he has been telling me about his scheme to furbish up the Dower House if you should not dislike it – and I can’t think why you should, dearest, for he says the ghost is nothing more than Spurstow, trying to keep everyone away, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least, for I always disliked that man, and even if there is a ghost, it cannot possibly be more disagreeable to live with than your grandfather!
Perhaps, if she could be busy all the time, as she meant to be, she might not feel so unhappy; perhaps, in household cares, she could forget her love, or grow at least accustomed to desolation.
You are too romantic! We have been dwelling in Arcadia my green girl: the rest of the world is not so golden as this retired spot. Only in fantasy does every circumstance conspire to make it inevitable that two people should fall in love! We should hardly have been more isolated had be been cast on a desert island together.
The Duke looked at him sardonically. ‘I am not in the least interested in your emotions, Vidal. What I object to is that you have had the impertinence to disturb your mother. That I do not permit. You will leave England at once.
I hardly dare open my mouth,” drawled Gideon, “but there is much in what he says, Gaywood. I don’t reckon myself a mean shot, but I would think twice before I engaged in pistol-play with Sale. And you won’t hit him you know. He is such a little fellow, and you are such a damnably bad shot!
It is high time you realised that you are of age, and may do as you please. Now, be off, and don’t neglect to change your stockings!
The Rector, coming into the room and learning what was the subject under discussion, said that since the world began each generation had condemned the manners and customs of the next.
He seems an agreeable creature. But that is how it is always! The less eligible a man is the more delightful he is bound to be! You may depend upon it.
There was nothing romantic about Miss Charing’s appearance, but her entrance would not have shamed a Siddons. “You,” she uttered in accents of loathing. “I might have known it!
My lord consigned the doctor and his words of wisdom to a place of great heat.
Only if one was very cruel did one laugh at a boy in the throes of his first love.
He lived in Half-Moon Street. His house was ruled by his cook, the wife of Moggat, his valet-footman. She also ruled the hapless Moggat. Moggat retaliated by ruling his jovial master as far as he was able, so one might really say Mrs. Moggat ruled them all. As Tom was quite unaware of this fact, it troubled him not a whit.
Does it matter what I know? It is what Cleone knows, but there’s naught under the sun so unreasonable as a maid in love.
Very bad business,’ said Mr Wychbold. ‘Nothing to be done, though.’ ‘That,’ said Sophy severely, ’is what people always say when they are too lazy, or perhaps too timorous, to make a push to be helpful!
I doubt it.” My lord smiled insufferably.