Lady Evelyn — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

A, a4 te ty i¥% & *, PF eZ ete oP ee F a Piet Wee wy "¢ Wei , i %) »« 35 T* Vile 3 yee, ‘oman 1 ,. A Pid 7 ad . vat) > hf ha et 86 A “Trevannance, of. Royal Rest. ago, in Vienne it was an understood thing we were to go up the Nile together before Christmas. ‘To go, or not to. £0, is, with me, an open question as yet.”’ “Then let me decide for you, Vivian. Don't go.” “My dear governor, really—’”’ “Come into the library; the men are out after the rab- bits, | suppose. When do you diner You can give me ten minutes before the dressing-bell rings, can’t you?” “Fifty, my dear sir, if you like. Really, this grows ia- teresting, not to say mysterious. In what possible man- ner can my going or staying affect you?” Fe flung open the library door and followed the tall, _ stalwart general in. A noble room, vast, long, and loity ; the oak-paneled walls lined with books in rich binding ; the draperies gold and purple; the polished oaken floor - covered with Persian. rugs; rare busts and bronzes on _ brackets and surmounting the lofty door-way and book- cases, General Trevannance planted himself on the tiger-skin before the marble hearth, his hands behind him, his feet apart, his square, resolute, handsome face full of im- portance, his*keen brown eyes fixed on his son. “Vivian, have you ever thought of marrying?” Vivian had thrown himself back amid the violet velvet cushions of a lounge, the impersonation of ease, but at this startling question he looked up almost as if a bullet _ had whizzed past him. =~. My dear father, Heaven forbid! What a_ horrible question—and so suddenly, too! Pray remember I was born with nerves, though you Peninsular heroes don't seem to know the meaning of the word. Marry? God forbid!” “And why, pray? You must come to it sooner or later ; it’s like death and the income tax and other inevita- ble evils, not exactly agreeable, perhaps, but something there is no shirking. How old are you—thirty, eh?” ‘Thirty-one and three months,” murmured Vivian, “old enough to know better than to marry. Good Heaven! that any man in his sober senses should rush voluntarily from freedom into bondage, and bondage of the most galling sort! “The heart is a free and fetterless thing,’ sings the poet, and I agree with him—whilst a man’s. single, I don’ t think I was ever intended by a beneficent | co mi EROo KS.cO