This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1894 edition. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XLII. THE SHADOW OF NEMESIS. "RAY take a seat by the fire," said Lord Wim 1 pole to his young companion, with a tender look and a caressing inflection in the tones of his voice. "Should we not?" Bell began. "Patience, my dear Isabel. Simpson is doubtless as well as he has any right to be. It ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1894 edition. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XLII. THE SHADOW OF NEMESIS. "RAY take a seat by the fire," said Lord Wim 1 pole to his young companion, with a tender look and a caressing inflection in the tones of his voice. "Should we not?" Bell began. "Patience, my dear Isabel. Simpson is doubtless as well as he has any right to be. It is bad art to complicate a fine situation. And how charming this is! It suggests domesticity." Leaning forward, he took her hand and gently chafed it. "How cool your hand is! cool and white as a lily--'tis a sign of a sound heart, in which the arteries do not play a losing game with the veins." "But, sir, all this is dreadfully irrelevant," objected Bell, gently removing her hand. "Give me leave again. Oh, you enchanting girl, I can think of nothing but you at present! I only get fugitive glimpses of you. You are a mere Undine, a Will-o'-the-wisp. What a teasing creature a woman is! How fragile and slight, but lo! coarse man must respect the majesty of will enshrined within her delicate frame. At a yard's distance she may be as far away as Cassiopeia. And it seems to me that you have been receding from me of late. Perchance you have been making comparisons. I know I cannot compete in looks with the gallant boy who loves you. I speak for the moment as your guardian. And even if I did not love you I would reason with you. For a sailor is only a nominal husband. He is away from home for long weary months. A sailor's wife has a short summer and a polar winter. Her husband is a succession of husbands, now bronzed, now bleached; each time he returns variegated with a new scar; and in his final appearance, perchance hobbling to his wife's embraces on a wooden leg. He does not come home, indeed; he merely puts into a dry dock to refit. So I would...
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