"Don't say it. Never does. Wish you hadn't later."
"You're a cynic, Evie," said John, laughing. "Where's tea
to-day--inside or out?"
"Out. Too fine a day to be cooped up in the house."
"Come on then, you've done enough gardening for to-day. 'The
labourer is worthy of his hire', you know. Come and be
refreshed."
"Well," said Miss Howard, drawing off her gardening gloves, "I'm
inclined to agree with you."
She led the way round the house to where tea was spread under the
shade of a large sycamore.
A figure rose from one of the basket chairs, and came a few steps
to meet us.
"My wife, Hastings," said John.
I shall never forget my first sight of Mary Cavendish. Her tall,
slender form, outlined against the bright light; the vivid sense
of slumbering fire that seemed to find expression only in those
wonderful tawny eyes of hers, remarkable eyes, different from any
other woman's that I have ever known; the intense power of
stillness she possessed, which nevertheless conveyed the
impression of a wild untamed spirit in an exquisitely civilised
body--all these things are burnt into my memory.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25