Lady Evelyn — page 138: what you’re looking at

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

Rejected. NN a Oe the season closed, were resumed again, and with double- added force. Royal Rest was thronged with rank and fashion, and, to help amuse those languid and sated pleas- ure-seekers, a troupe of actors had been imported—the most celebrated comedian, the most bewitching little prima-donna of the day _at their head. And to-night there was a ball, opening with a gay vaudeville, at Royal Rest. And five minutes before he went to play his suave and stately role of host, Trevannance stood alone in the domed picture-gallery, and gazed out over the darkening - prospect, for a wonder very grave and thoughtful. It was not his way to look grave over many things; life to him, like another celebrated philosopher, was a comedy of errors, to be laughed at; and he seldom troubled himself to think very deeply on any subject; it was a bore. But in the gray gloaming of this chilly November day, he stood lost in thought—very grave and earnest thought, too. October had beamed itself*out in crimson and gold amid the woodlands, and melancholy November was with them, with its whistling winds, its beating rain, its low- lying, chill-gray sky, its weary sea-fog. But life went very brightly at Royal Rest. Scores of old friends, good fellows all, rode and hunted and played billiards with him every day, and gossiped with him every night over the Manila and the nargile in the smoking-room; and, better still, bright eyes grew brighter as he drew near, rosy lips smiled radiantly upon him, eyelids drooped, and gentle bosoms fluttered at the low, caressing words of the lord of. Royal Rest. He had a long rent-roll—a longer pedi- gree ; his manners were simply perfection, and he was one of the handsomest men of the day. No wonder those silver-plumaged doves fluttered with delicious little thrills of hope and fear when this gorgeous oriole swept to their dove-cote; no wonder they hated with an intense and bitter depth of envy and malice and all uncharitableness the violet-eyed beauty of old Castile who moved serenely among them, “queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.” And they had great cause; for, in this cold, gray No- vember twilight, as he stood here alone, Trevannance was debating within himself the question: “They leave for Italy next week; they spend the winter in Rome. If I speak at all, I should speak te-nicht) - —. te