Beau was by no means ignorant
of the tender passion--he had his own little romance, as beautiful and
bright as a summer day--but he had resolved that London, with its love
of gossip, its scandal, and society papers,--London, that on account of
his popularity as a writer, watched his movements and chronicled his
doings in the most authoritative and incorrect manner,--London should
have no chance of penetrating into the secret of his private life. And
so far he had succeeded--and was likely still to succeed.
Meanwhile, as he still sat in blissful reverie, pretending to read a
newspaper, though his thoughts were far away from it, Errington and
Lorimer arrived at the Midland Station. Britta was already there with
the luggage,--she was excited and pleased--her spirits had risen at the
prospect of seeing her mistress soon again,--possibly, she thought
gladly, they might find her at Hull,--they might not have to go to
Norway at all. The train came up to the platform--the tickets were
taken,--and Sir Philip, with Britta, entered--a first-class compartment,
while Lorimer stood outside leaning with folded arms on the
carriage-window, talking cheerfully.
Pages:
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917