Lady Evelyn — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

Peers | ae f Royal Hose: Lele Te: Pphes call hes the Roce of Caicsaeuy | eh? he + laureaté dubbed her. A certain prince of the blood royal Be was so struck with her at the Drawing-Room that—” “Oh, yes! heard that story,” interrupted Lord Racer. “Got snubbed for his pains, didn’t he? I met Clontarf up the Mediterranean, last year. Grumpy old fellow. Looks like Byron’s Manfred or Eugene Aram—chronic eloom and all that sort of thing, as if he had a murder on his mind, you know.. By the way, Clontarf got the title in rather a roundabout way, didn't he? Was nephew of the last earl, and stepped in the shoes of the dead son. Tow was it ?” “This way,’ said Guy Rivers, one of those men who lnow everything. “It happened twenty years ago, or thereabouts, but I recollect it perfectly. Lord Roderick Desmond, Clontarf—late earl, of course, Clontarf’s only son—was accused of murdering a little peasant girl—hor- ribly unlikely, you know, but he was—and found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged. Three days before the sen- tence was to be executed he made his escape somehow, and never was heard of again. They found a body some months later, washed ashore, and people supposed it to be 93 gh Bee Seo” Ble Pao, PRS TG MAL Ce a On| aa! he Ba he a Sale Pa Mee, ee) Ae eh PE eS tN A OL eae SRP deo ~ : 7 7 os ‘ . - fe os -: * tr. Sas ae, #0) rt : Ailes . ~ : * ; i: am ys 5 * ’ lowe F ? ee ". s d “ ‘ah Uh a his. Well, the ear! very naturally, never held up his head — after. Very fine fellow Lord Roderick was, they say; and when he died, Gerald Desmond; then a hard-working London barrister, stepped into the title. He did more— he married the Lady Inez d’Alvarez, the betrothed of his late cousin, and with the vast wealth she brought him built up the decayed fortunes of the Desmonds. He took her back to Castile, and there our radiant, peerless, proud Lady Evelyn first opened her violet eyes on this mortal life. Pass the Burgundy—l have spoken !” “Tike an oracle!’ said his host, flinging aside his let- ter and selecting a peach. “And now, what’s it ali about ?” “The Rose of Castile, of course—the subject of the day. 99 “Ah! and pray, what new floricultural wonder is your Te de Castile?” “Hear him!” cried Lord Racer, impatiently. “You — Vandal! If you had not spent the last three years in the — lend of the Arab and the Mussulman, you would not need ne _ to ask thet Sheree tle Clontarf's ag dans pies | comic Bee $ ay ; . an ’ er ‘ : “ni at tee veo TA cont AU Na te ae ee. pe TP PY PP aa Gays ov | ri > A uhh”... ty “ 4