Lady Evelyn — page 97: what you’re looking at

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

3 TSM ew anne aCe 4 at 4 Aran bi aati ¥ a ee nak Si Ai BORN 4 oR ae Oy Sa ry foe ed anh eS OARS, c at aot bs ALI e ris i- eas : fi, tu Tas wey Me a he Pra ap i we : tt" P ae lias oath oy , WES aa AR 0; a He WU Ma NE hy s sya tiny ie ith te k: pas a - ate! ke : ry 5 ae ‘ ° ¢ a q., : : oo r ' “Gone to Rane: went ‘this morning poet ee” Re- ceived a teleoram from a friend at the point of death. Quixotic fellow, Vivian, on the score of friendship. Very sorry, but wouldn’t have postponed for the crown of the world.” _. And then General Trevannance took snuff and gnawed his silvery mustache uneasily behind his large, white hand. The Earl of Clontarf bowed, with a cynical smilé, _and glanced at his daughter. “IT begin to think we are two elderly idiots, Trevan- | ‘o stiff-necked fathers in a comedy, making absurd matches for our sons and daughters, stamping about the stage, very red in the face and very furious as Boro voice, during four acts, and yielding to the low com- edian and the soubrettes, and giving them our blessing for their obedience, in the fifth. We had better drop that little matter we spoke of a day or two ago. Ame- thyst’s a very good fellow, and he deserves to win her.” Yes, he certainly deserved to win her, if untiring devo- tion could do it. He hovered around her now, a great, yellow-whiskered moth in the dazzling candle-flame, scorching his mealy wing's, poor fellow, while the brilliant flame burned on without mercy. He kept fluttering near, drinking in that dangerous, seducive loveliness, the cold indifference with which she turned from him and his ducal coronet like oil added to fire. She was rarely beautiful, this young Spanish patrician, with the lofty grace of a royal stag. ‘Tall and willowy and slender, she floated in a cloud of eold-hued ereo- phane, a Venus robed in sunbeams, with opals. clasping the arched throat, the taper wrists, dangling from the pink, shell-like ears, and gleaming above the low, dusk brow. The purple- black hair, that fell in a jetty cascade of waves and ripples and curls to the taper waist, was soft and fine as floss silk—a chevelure for an Andalusian countess. The clear, creamy white of the skin; the mouth, red as a pine rose and sweet as a babe’s; the aquiline nose with its proud, curved nostril; the long, deep, dark eyes of purplish blue, shaded by sweeping, jetty lashes—ah, wondrously lovely, rately lovely, was this peerless Rose of Castile! She moved up and down 3 ‘ Be one suite 3 Gra wine scores with a ene airy , SMe tl COU icboo ‘S.CO ee 4 f ) Oe, 4 : ret: - Pita, Sad é Y i a of showy f \ y \ a iv he t a pele * Wise died ~~ 7