"And what DO you like in a man?"
"Precious little from what I've seen of them in England."
As Hawkes looked at her, radiant in her spring-like beauty, her
clear, healthy complexion, her dazzling teeth, her red-gold hair, he
felt a sudden thrill go through him. His life had been so full, so
concentrated on the development of his career, that he had never
permitted the feminine note to obtrude itself on his life. His
effort had been rewarded by an unusually large circle of influential
clients who yielded him an exceedingly handsome revenue. He had
heard whispers of a magistracy. His PUBLIC future was assured.
But his PRIVATE life was arid. The handsome villa in Pelham Crescent
had no one to grace the head of the table, save on the occasional
visits of his aged mother, or the still rarer ones of a married
sister.
And here was he in the full prime of life.
It is remarkable how, at times, in one's passage through life, the
throb in a voice, the breath of a perfume, the chord of an old song,
will arouse some hidden note that had so far lain dormant in one's
nature, and which, when awakened into life, has influences that
reach through generations.
It was even so with Hawkes, as he looked at the little Irish girl,
born of an aristocratic English mother, looking up at him, hand
outstretched, expectant, in all her girlish pudicity.
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