Guy Earlscourt's Wife — page 47: what you’re looking at

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nare. the beautiful ls ‘held them- uInerable spot f Nature had for a mother. mn; she raised vy in my life. lozy.” sat astounded think now, I inner room.” ntly. “Polly want to get abstractedly; 1 walk.” ilk dress and ering bronze gh baby aris- , admivingly; ld paint her. se and chin.” me hear the in. We will looked at the of a creature s called Miss e has reason 1atched from , at so early ikful. n vain, Polly owl as made n said, sooth- ust fabricate d forgive us, Te cant have, ¢ At Si. George’s, Hanover >Quare. 4\ to do with the wicked ones of the earth without sharing in their wickedness.” | “And as ve been up all night, Rosanna, Vl turn in until breakfast time,” Duke answered; “rout me ovt at half after eight. [I am going to strike w ‘ork this morning, and go to St. Gecrge’s, Hanover Square, and ming!e with the bloated aris- toeraey, “and see this young fadyv’s mamma married. Beg your pardon, Rosanna, for alluding to her—I won't do it again. What a dickens of a temper the little angel has!” Duke went to bedg Rosanna pacified Polly, with some trouble, and more bread and milk. [For once in a way, she was almost excited. A child to dress, and scold, and love, and a hundred pounds in her pocket. At half-past eight precisely she summoned Duke to break- fast. The young :1an found his sister in better and gentler mood than he had ever known her in his life at this early hour. Polly had gorged herself, like a small boa-ecnstrictor, with bread and milk, and now, standing on one of the parlor chairs, looking out of the window at the busy scene in the mews opposite, was wailing in a plaintive minor key for “Tyozy.” She never called for her mamma, Rosanna noticed, as most babies do—always “Dozy.” Duke ate his breakfast, started off at a rapid pace for the aristocratic portals of St. George’s, Ilanover Square. There would be no end of a row, he thought. at the scene-room of the Britannia in consequence of his non-appearance, and Tinsel & Spangle would fine him, very hkely; but a mia who is the happy possessor of a hundred pounds can afford to defy the minions of the theatre. “T’ll see Miss L. turned off,” thought Duke, elegantly, “and then have at thee, Spangle; and cursed be he who first cries hold! enough!” It was high noon when the seene-painter reached his desti- nation—high noon on a sunny April day, warm as mid-June. A stately procession of elegant private carriages filled the street—half the turnouts in Mayfair, it seemed to the sim- ple denizen of Half-Moon Terraee—and a mob of idlers on the lookout i see the quality. Duke, in his haste, turning sharp round the seotes of one of these white-favored vehicles, ran violently against a gen- tleman coming in equal haste from the opposite: direction. “Beg your pardon, sir. Didn’t mean anything offensive, you know!” Duke said, politely. “T hope T haven’t hurt you.” The gentleman made no reply. He did not even seem to hear him. His eyes were fixed upon the church «ith a hun- gry, strained intensity of gaze. cComicbooks.com