What does he do these three days?’ She had come daily to the vestry, hoping to meet the lad and hear his report. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. She is no more English than that set of beggars over there. Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion. ‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. Ireton and Langley had returned from a second unsuccessful search; Marvel had come thither to bid good-night to Mrs. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. In his youth he must have been a remarkably handsome man, for he is still handsome. He came into the club next day, and of course we went for him thick.
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