Lady Evelyn — page 204: what you’re looking at

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

-_ = "an 7] i206 8. ae, Ta at” oe wd Ae we le ep, ~< we ae, , a Mey te _ ‘ ve. p & - - : r .- the white strand in search of the shells, whereon the little _ I’irnest had set his four-year-old heart. And Lady Eve- lyn Desmond was left alone to dream of the coming of her husband, in future, if she chose. Her face had clouded perceptibly at Lady Clydesmore’s ie The Ivory Miniature. = ~—197 words. When she had gone she drew forth a letter, re- — ceived the day before, and read it over. It was dated “London,” and signed “Vivian Trevannance,” and it an- nounced his speedy arrival at Royal Rest. It was a model lover’s letter—calm, courteous, gentlemanly, telling of his — voyage across, regretting her father’s illness and express- ing his pleasure at once more beholding her. “IT bring with me a friend,” wrote Lady Evelyn’s lover —‘an American officer—like Ney, the ‘bravest of the brave,’ a very hero of romance, whose life seems to have run after the fashion of a three-volume novel. His name — 1s Drummond. You will like him, I am certain.” _ She read the letter over very slowly and thoughtfully, and when she folded it up not all the rosy glow in sky or sea could light the gloom that lay on the perfect face. “Does he love me?” she thought; “do I love him. Are we both playing a part, and for what? I dread his com- ing—yes, dread—when I=should rejoice. His absence was like a reprieve to a sentenced criminal; his coming brings nothing but terror. Is it just to him to become his wife with a heart that is cold as stone, so far as love is concerned? ‘They have called me an iceberg, those others. .Perhaps I am, for love such as I have read and heard of I have never felt. Waull my life be like poor mamma’s, forlorn and dreary? Will I marry Mr. Tre- vannance, and in a year or two meet him only once or twice a month, as she does papa, and then with the cold formality of utter strangers? And yet—no, I cannot be quite as wretched as she, for she loved another with all her heart, and lost him.”’ She drew forth from the pocket of her dress a little ivory miniature. It was the portrait of Roderick Des- mond, given her by her mother, and which she had an odd fancy for carrying about with her. The fair, frank beauty of the face had a charm for her; the violet eyes looked up at her full of boyish brightness and life; the lips seemed to smile. The colors of the picture were fresh and undimmed, the likeness a living one. | comicbooks.co