"
She glanced at her husband with a smile of unforgiving sweetness.
"Fortunately," she concluded, "it agrees with Mr. Carstyle."
THE TWILIGHT OF THE GOD
I
_A Newport drawing-room. Tapestries, flowers, bric-a-brac. Through the
windows, a geranium-edged lawn, the cliffs and the sea_. Isabel Warland
_sits reading_. Lucius Warland _enters in flannels and a yachting-cap_.
_Isabel_. Back already?
_Warland_. The wind dropped--it turned into a drifting race. Langham took
me off the yacht on his launch. What time is it? Two o'clock? Where's Mrs.
Raynor?
_Isabel_. On her way to New York.
_Warland_. To New York?
_Isabel_. Precisely. The boat must be just leaving; she started an hour
ago and took Laura with her. In fact I'm alone in the house--that is,
until this evening. Some people are coming then.
_Warland_. But what in the world--
_Isabel_. Her aunt, Mrs. Griscom, has had a fit. She has them constantly.
They're not serious--at least they wouldn't be, if Mrs. Griscom were not
so rich--and childless. Naturally, under the circumstances, Marian feels a
peculiar sympathy for her; her position is such a sad one; there's
positively no one to care whether she lives or dies--except her heirs. Of
course they all rush to Newburgh whenever she has a fit. It's hard on
Marian, for she lives the farthest away; but she has come to an
understanding with the housekeeper, who always telegraphs her first, so
that she gets a start of several hours.
Pages:
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134