Guy Earlscourt's Wife — page 37: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

the afternoon, bury, and the face westward, sky, a sky as Venice instead vas an are of ’ the way, the ick bex where ‘ods, he had a d a lame ecob- igon’s domicile 1, with a bed- lor, with ditto ent, also open- dio; for Duke rtist, his little ene-painter to cond violinist, icbeth, Second being an adept Ht the plays of and straining » suit British got them to gentleman of pril afternoon, ll one side of ting in skies aos of rubies rom the door- id in a strong g splendor to ost spotlessly ym. She is a is uncertain: eis five-and- usually are; Heep-set eyes, development; — be The Dawn of the Fourteerth o1 april. 31 nd her hair. which is of the hue ealled sandy, Minned in a little knot at the back of her head. Her dress, ld and faded. is daintily clean, as is, indeed, everything Mout her, except, perhaps, Duke, whom she loves, and prays Wor, and tyrannizes over as some women do over the men hev like best. The afternoon sun dropped low-——Miss Mason glancing ont t the crimson, golden radiance yonder in the west, opined Miat it was almost time to go and get tea. Duke must de- part for the “regions of darkness,” as she always thought of eAhe Britannia, at_half-past six, and the pantaloois were one. She glanced at their wearer, and her grim face grew ® shade more grim. We “At it again,” thought Miss Mason; “he’s 4 very day.” B Duke was not doing anything very wrong—in fact, ho vas not doing anything at ail. He sat perched on, the top z; the ladder, his brushes and palette unused, staring very d ard at nothing, and whistling a pensive accompaniment to 4 his thoughts. It was quite a new habit of his, this day- ” reaming, a habit contracted since his late visit to Lineoln- ‘Bhire. That was over three weeks ago now, and, as his sister a Waid to herself, he grew. worse every day. Tle had not said i word, as you may suppose, of the adventure of the night apf the twenty-fifth of March—very few people felt tempted “ato pour the story of their follies into the vestal ear of Rosanna, and he had hidden the opal ring deep in the re- Weesses of his pocketbook. He had told* nobody of that @etrange adventure, and he had contracted a custom of think- ng about it a great deal. Just at present he was wondering how the young lady’s escape had come to be discovered so speedily—it was the missing key did it, no doubt. ’ | It had been the missing key. Mrs. Grimshaw had found erself unable to sleep that night ‘on account of it. Tad Mhe spirit of the slain cavalier whisked it off, or had Miss Wyndith anything to do with it? After tossing severe! hours, 7 Mrs. Grimshaw grew desperate—got up-——stole to the young 2 ey s chamber to see that all was safe. The door was un- Alocked, the bed unslept in, the‘ young lady gone. Half an ; our after, Mr. Lyndith was tearing along to the station in kearch of his ward, “Tf J. J. Quill got hold of the story he’@ work it up in a Vfive- -act melodrama, and make his fortune,” thought Duke. ‘J. J. has done all the dramas they’ve played at the Britannia i for the last fourteen years, except what I’ve cooked over q @from the French: She said if she ever needed me, she would send for me again; I hope she won’t. Rosanna might '3 tightly erowlng worse comicbooks.com @