The Trespasser, Volume 3

re at ease. They even went so far as to hope that he would influence his uncle; for it was clear to them both that whatever Gaston's faults were, they were agreeably different

ng since forfeited by Ian. Finally, one day, after a little burst of thanksgiving, on getting an excellent letter from Gaston, telling of hi

r William said, as he enclosed the c

the poor and the East End, and all those social fac

and yet a deep observation of the present. I don't

k that Lord Faramon

harles's time. And then it was a Gaston. Singular-quite singular! Coincidences

says that he may soon r

acted. He was thinkin

his grandson had acted,

Gaston's scene

ut it's one of the virtues of having a descent.

-breed mother!" L

lackfoot? I've heard him speak of both,

r fellow, it is not his fault

riginality. Our old families

day, and she replied that the refreshment mig

ot quite satisfied. That very

ach other; but I know you,

r hearts'; well, then, you know

t to have gone when he did. He has the w

want-me to

him with us. With Delia he must go straight. She influences him, he admires her-which is better than mer

criptive, with a dash of epigram. It acknowledged that he had felt the curb, and wanted a touch of the unconven

eathen at heart, but I believe he hasn't given Delia cause to blush-and that's a good

le did in five. Her imagination was not great, but he stimulated it. If he wrote a pungent line on Daudet or Whistler, on Montaigne or Fielding, she was stimulated to know them. One day he sent her Whitman's Leaves of Grass, which he had picked up in New York on his way to England. This startled her. She had

y correct, but she could not make a sentence breathe. He was grateful, but nothing stirred in him

ange. Day after day he visited her, always in the presence of Annette. Soon they dined of

re; he had received his

gerie, but generally af

r's or an hour's romp wi

Gaston. The wild li

It was on his tongue a hundred times to tell her that that something was Delia Gasgoyne. He did not. Perhaps because it seemed so grotesque, perhaps because it was easier to drift. Besides, as he said to himself, he would soon go to join the yacht at Gibraltar, and all this would be over-over. All this

d was different-he had befriended her father. She had not singular scruples regarding men, for she despised most of them. She was not a Mademoiselle Cerise, nor a Madame Juliette, though they were higher on the pl

xactly. And he had never descended to that which-she felt instinctively-he would not have shown to the ladies of his English world. She knew what ladies were. In her first few weeks in Paris, her fame mounting, she had lunched with some distinguished people, who entertained her as they

ped, partly from something Jacques once said to him. Well, what did it matter to her? He would go back; she would remain. It didn't matter.-Yet, why should she lie to herself? It did matter. An

ed a large studio as a sitting-room, not luxuriantly but pleasantly. It opened into a pretty little garden, with a few plants and trees. They sat there while Jacques went for the horse. Next door a number of students were singing a song of the boulevards. It was followed by one in

wine is dry

lower is broke

the white sai

eave me there

shall weep? Nay

runk, the flo

when the days

tear-drops gat

rolled a cigarette, and regarded the scene. Her knee was drawn up slightly in her hands, her hat was off, her rich brown hair fell loosely about her head, framing it, her dark eyes glowed under her bent brows. The lion's cub crawled u

ut towards the horse. There was something essentially child-like in her, s

and as he had done wi

; he is

e rejoined, an

erested. He guessed

ou have seen my lions! Leave

Presently it sprang away, then half-turned towards the girl, and stood still. She kept talking t

ched neck, dropped his head on her shoulder. She felt the folds of his neck and kissed him. He followed her about the g

er in her eyes.

d y

k burned into her sou

en and met her. It was now dusk. Annette was inside. They walked together in silence for a time. Presently she drew close to him. He felt his veins bounding. Her hand s

yes holding hers: "The

som heaving hard. She threw up her head

ment afterwards, as she lift

ing her cheek to his. "W

and the g

sies

he end

Andree?" She caught h

ly that it is madness! I see

. "What do you see?" he ur

u at my f

n you at mi

," she sai

he whi

the studio. Annette was asleep in her chair. An