"I suppose you do really believe that?" she asked, looking up at him. "Would you keep it just the same, for instance, if you knew for certain that it meant staying on here for ten years and getting nothing, absolutely nothing, at the end of it? Would you, honestly? Or don't you think you'd ask to be let off?"
We agreed to this suggestion readily enough, and drove there in a taxi.
He knelt beside her and gently turned her face.
The second day after Mrs. Creswell's visit to Helmingham, Walter Joyce was sitting in his chambers hard at work. The approaching change in his condition had affected him very little indeed. He had laughed to himself to think how little. He would have laughed more had he not at the same time reflected that it is not a particularly good sign for a man to be so much overwhelmed by business or so generally careless as to what becomes of him, as to look upon his marriage with very little elation, to prepare for it in a very matter-of-fact and unromantic way. That no man can serve two masters we know on the best authority; and there are two who certainly will not brook being served at the same time by the one worshipper, love and ambition. Joyce had been courting the latter deity for many months with unexampled assiduity, and with very excellent success, and, in reality, had never swerved in his allegiance. He was afraid he had; he induced himself to believe that that desire for some one to share his life with him was really legitimate love-prompting, whereas it was much more likely a mere wish, springing from vanity, to have some one always at hand with the censer, some one to play the part of the stage-confidante, and receive all his outpourings while at the same time she was loud in his praises. The love which he felt for Maude Creswell differed as much from the passion with which, in the bygone years, Marian Ashurst had inspired him, as the thick brown turgid Rhine stream which flows past Emmerich differs from the bright, limpid, diamond-sprayed water which flashes down at Schaffhausen; but there was "body" in it, as there is in the Rhine stream at Emmerich, sufficient to keep him straight from any of the insidious attacks of ambition, as he soon had occasion to prove.
Her voice grew strong in its intensity as she spoke. Thorburn leaned on the bed, his arm around her, and great drops upon his pallid face. A groan burst from him. The dying can not weep, but there was a terrible and piercing pity for herself and for him in Mrs. Thorburn's uncertain voice and her misty eyes. Thorburn tried to tell her
Appalled by the certainty, he still peered upward, fascinated yet repelled; and softly the woman laughed--not only laughed, but threw something down that landed, lightly, at his feet. A hoarse murmur of comment went up from the onlookers; one of them, a weedy youth, picked the object up and tendered it to the sahib, exclaiming with insolent politeness: "Thou art favoured, heaven-born."
Well, thin she wint to bed, and I belave slipt sowndly, for her cheeks were pink as roses in the marning, and her eyes brite and luvly.详情 ?
Copyright © 2020