The Evil Genius: A Domestic Story — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

14 THE EVIL GENIUS. ‘¢Ts he married ?” ‘‘ Aha! now we’re coming tothe point. Make your mind easy, Plenty of women have set the trap for him, but he has no walked into it yet. Shall I give him your love?” ‘‘ Yes,” she said, coolly. ‘* As much love as you please.” ‘‘ Meaning marriage?” the landlord inquired. «‘ And money,” Mrs. Westerfield added. ‘‘ Lord Le Basque’s money ?” ‘‘TLord Le Basque’s money may go to the devil!” ‘‘Hullo! Your language reminds me of the time when you were barmaid. You don’t mean to say you have had a fortune left you?” ‘‘T do! Will you give a message to James ?” ‘‘T'll do anything for a lady with a fortune.” ‘‘Tell him to come and drink tea with his old sweetheart to- morrow, at six o’clock.” ‘*He won’t do it.” ‘‘ He will.” With that difference of opinion they parted. 6.—The Brute. To-morrow came—and Mrs. Westerfield’s faithfnl James justi: fied her confidence in him. ‘‘Oh, Jemmy, how glad Iam to sev you! You dear, dear fel- low, I’m yours at last.” ‘‘That depends, my lady, on whether I want you. Let goof my neck.” The man who entered this protest against imprisonment in the arms of a fine woman was one of the human beings who are grown to perfection on English soil. He had the fat face, the pink Le pay the hard blue eyes, the scanty yellow hair, the smile with no meaning in it, the tremendous neck and shoul- ders, the mighty fists and feet, which are seen in complete com- bination in England only. Men of this breed possess a nervous system without being aware of it; suffer affliction without feel- ing it; exercise courage without a sense of danger; marry with- out love; eat and drink without limit; and sink (big as they are), when disease attacks them, without an effort to live. Mrs. Westerfield released her guest’s bull-neck at the word of command. It was impossible not to submit to him—he was so brutal. Impossible not to admire him—he was so big. ‘‘ Have you no love left for me?’ was all she ventured to say. He took the remonstrance good-humoredly. ‘* Love?” he re- peated. ‘‘Come! I like that—after throwing me over for a man with a handle to his name. Which am I to call you—‘ Mrs,’ or ‘My lady?” ‘‘Call me your own. What is there to laugh at, Jemmy? You used to be fond of me; you would never have gone to America, when I married Westerfield, if I hadn’t been dear to you. Oh, if I’m sure of anything, ’m sure of that! You wouldn’t bear malice, dear, if you only knew how cruelly I have been disappointed.” He suddenly showed an interest in what she was saying; the CONNICLOOKS .eO@