Mary of Marion Isle
"I think, Clara, that your cousin Andrew is a damned young fool. You
must excuse the language, but on the whole I consider him the
damnedest young fool with whom I ever had to do."
Thus in cold and deliberate tones did Lord Atterton express himself
concerning Andrew West, the only son of his deceased brother. Clara
Maunsell, his sister's child who was also an orphan, studied her uncle
for a while before she answered, which there was no need for her to do
at once as he was busy lighting a cigar. An observant onlooker might
have thought that she was thinking things out and making up her mind
what line to take about the said Andrew West.
These two, uncle and niece, presented a somewhat curious contrast
there on that September day in the richly furnished but yet
uncomfortable library of Lord Atterton's great house in Cavendish
Square. He was a medium-sized, stout man of about sixty-eight years of
age. His big, well-shaped head resembled that of a tonsured monk,
inasmuch as it was completely bald save for an encircling fringe of
white hair. His face was clean-cut and able, with rather a long nose
and a fierce, determined mouth remarkable for the thinness of the lips
and absence of any curves. There was much character in that mouth;
indeed, his whole aspect gave an impression of cold force. "Successful
man" was written all over him.
The niece was a young lady of about four-and-twenty, of whom at first
sight one would instinctively say, "How pretty she is, and how neat!"
In fact, she was both. Small in build but perfectly proportioned, fair
in complexion with just the right amount of colour, with crisp auburn
hair carefully dressed, and steady, innocent-looking blue eyes, a
well-formed mouth and a straight little nose, she was the very
embodiment of prettiness as distinguished from beauty, while in
neatness none could surpass her. Her quiet-coloured dress suited her
to perfection, no one had ever seen that auburn coiffure disordered
even in a gale of wind, her boots and gloves were marvels of their
sort, and even the pearl drops on the necklace she wore seemed to
arrange themselves with a mathematical exactitude. "Little Tidy" they
had called her in the nursery, and "Clever Clara" at school, and now
that she was grown up these attributes continued to distinguish her.
In a way there was about her more than a hint of her uncle, Lord
Atterton. Between a young lady and this old man, especially as the one
might be said to represent decorated ice-cream and the other something
very much on the boil, there could be no real resemblance. And yet the
set of their mouths and the air of general ability common to both of
them, did give them a certain similitude, due no doubt to affinity of
blood.
"1102423464"
must excuse the language, but on the whole I consider him the
damnedest young fool with whom I ever had to do."
Thus in cold and deliberate tones did Lord Atterton express himself
concerning Andrew West, the only son of his deceased brother. Clara
Maunsell, his sister's child who was also an orphan, studied her uncle
for a while before she answered, which there was no need for her to do
at once as he was busy lighting a cigar. An observant onlooker might
have thought that she was thinking things out and making up her mind
what line to take about the said Andrew West.
These two, uncle and niece, presented a somewhat curious contrast
there on that September day in the richly furnished but yet
uncomfortable library of Lord Atterton's great house in Cavendish
Square. He was a medium-sized, stout man of about sixty-eight years of
age. His big, well-shaped head resembled that of a tonsured monk,
inasmuch as it was completely bald save for an encircling fringe of
white hair. His face was clean-cut and able, with rather a long nose
and a fierce, determined mouth remarkable for the thinness of the lips
and absence of any curves. There was much character in that mouth;
indeed, his whole aspect gave an impression of cold force. "Successful
man" was written all over him.
The niece was a young lady of about four-and-twenty, of whom at first
sight one would instinctively say, "How pretty she is, and how neat!"
In fact, she was both. Small in build but perfectly proportioned, fair
in complexion with just the right amount of colour, with crisp auburn
hair carefully dressed, and steady, innocent-looking blue eyes, a
well-formed mouth and a straight little nose, she was the very
embodiment of prettiness as distinguished from beauty, while in
neatness none could surpass her. Her quiet-coloured dress suited her
to perfection, no one had ever seen that auburn coiffure disordered
even in a gale of wind, her boots and gloves were marvels of their
sort, and even the pearl drops on the necklace she wore seemed to
arrange themselves with a mathematical exactitude. "Little Tidy" they
had called her in the nursery, and "Clever Clara" at school, and now
that she was grown up these attributes continued to distinguish her.
In a way there was about her more than a hint of her uncle, Lord
Atterton. Between a young lady and this old man, especially as the one
might be said to represent decorated ice-cream and the other something
very much on the boil, there could be no real resemblance. And yet the
set of their mouths and the air of general ability common to both of
them, did give them a certain similitude, due no doubt to affinity of
blood.
Mary of Marion Isle
"I think, Clara, that your cousin Andrew is a damned young fool. You
must excuse the language, but on the whole I consider him the
damnedest young fool with whom I ever had to do."
Thus in cold and deliberate tones did Lord Atterton express himself
concerning Andrew West, the only son of his deceased brother. Clara
Maunsell, his sister's child who was also an orphan, studied her uncle
for a while before she answered, which there was no need for her to do
at once as he was busy lighting a cigar. An observant onlooker might
have thought that she was thinking things out and making up her mind
what line to take about the said Andrew West.
These two, uncle and niece, presented a somewhat curious contrast
there on that September day in the richly furnished but yet
uncomfortable library of Lord Atterton's great house in Cavendish
Square. He was a medium-sized, stout man of about sixty-eight years of
age. His big, well-shaped head resembled that of a tonsured monk,
inasmuch as it was completely bald save for an encircling fringe of
white hair. His face was clean-cut and able, with rather a long nose
and a fierce, determined mouth remarkable for the thinness of the lips
and absence of any curves. There was much character in that mouth;
indeed, his whole aspect gave an impression of cold force. "Successful
man" was written all over him.
The niece was a young lady of about four-and-twenty, of whom at first
sight one would instinctively say, "How pretty she is, and how neat!"
In fact, she was both. Small in build but perfectly proportioned, fair
in complexion with just the right amount of colour, with crisp auburn
hair carefully dressed, and steady, innocent-looking blue eyes, a
well-formed mouth and a straight little nose, she was the very
embodiment of prettiness as distinguished from beauty, while in
neatness none could surpass her. Her quiet-coloured dress suited her
to perfection, no one had ever seen that auburn coiffure disordered
even in a gale of wind, her boots and gloves were marvels of their
sort, and even the pearl drops on the necklace she wore seemed to
arrange themselves with a mathematical exactitude. "Little Tidy" they
had called her in the nursery, and "Clever Clara" at school, and now
that she was grown up these attributes continued to distinguish her.
In a way there was about her more than a hint of her uncle, Lord
Atterton. Between a young lady and this old man, especially as the one
might be said to represent decorated ice-cream and the other something
very much on the boil, there could be no real resemblance. And yet the
set of their mouths and the air of general ability common to both of
them, did give them a certain similitude, due no doubt to affinity of
blood.
must excuse the language, but on the whole I consider him the
damnedest young fool with whom I ever had to do."
Thus in cold and deliberate tones did Lord Atterton express himself
concerning Andrew West, the only son of his deceased brother. Clara
Maunsell, his sister's child who was also an orphan, studied her uncle
for a while before she answered, which there was no need for her to do
at once as he was busy lighting a cigar. An observant onlooker might
have thought that she was thinking things out and making up her mind
what line to take about the said Andrew West.
These two, uncle and niece, presented a somewhat curious contrast
there on that September day in the richly furnished but yet
uncomfortable library of Lord Atterton's great house in Cavendish
Square. He was a medium-sized, stout man of about sixty-eight years of
age. His big, well-shaped head resembled that of a tonsured monk,
inasmuch as it was completely bald save for an encircling fringe of
white hair. His face was clean-cut and able, with rather a long nose
and a fierce, determined mouth remarkable for the thinness of the lips
and absence of any curves. There was much character in that mouth;
indeed, his whole aspect gave an impression of cold force. "Successful
man" was written all over him.
The niece was a young lady of about four-and-twenty, of whom at first
sight one would instinctively say, "How pretty she is, and how neat!"
In fact, she was both. Small in build but perfectly proportioned, fair
in complexion with just the right amount of colour, with crisp auburn
hair carefully dressed, and steady, innocent-looking blue eyes, a
well-formed mouth and a straight little nose, she was the very
embodiment of prettiness as distinguished from beauty, while in
neatness none could surpass her. Her quiet-coloured dress suited her
to perfection, no one had ever seen that auburn coiffure disordered
even in a gale of wind, her boots and gloves were marvels of their
sort, and even the pearl drops on the necklace she wore seemed to
arrange themselves with a mathematical exactitude. "Little Tidy" they
had called her in the nursery, and "Clever Clara" at school, and now
that she was grown up these attributes continued to distinguish her.
In a way there was about her more than a hint of her uncle, Lord
Atterton. Between a young lady and this old man, especially as the one
might be said to represent decorated ice-cream and the other something
very much on the boil, there could be no real resemblance. And yet the
set of their mouths and the air of general ability common to both of
them, did give them a certain similitude, due no doubt to affinity of
blood.
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Mary of Marion Isle
Mary of Marion Isle
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940013663664 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing |
| Publication date: | 01/16/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 268 KB |
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