Nevertheless, thought Victoria--sensitive and
quick in forming impressions--he somehow contrived to look a thorough
man, passionate and ready to be violently in earnest, like one who would
love or hate in a fiery way. "He would make a splendid martyr," the girl
said to herself, giving him straight look for straight look, as he began
advising her against her chosen hotel. "But I think he would want his
best friends to come and look on while he burned. Mr. Knight would chase
everybody away."
"Don't go to any hotel," Nevill said. "Be my aunt's guest. It's a great
deal more her house than mine. There's lots of room in it--ever so much
more than we want. Just now there's no one staying with us, but often we
have a dozen or so. Sometimes my aunt invites people. Sometimes I do:
sometimes both together. Now I invite you, in her name. She's quite a
nice old lady. You'll like her. And we've got all kinds of
animals--everything, nearly, that will live in this climate, from
tortoises of Carthage, to white mice from Japan, and a baby panther from
Grand Kabylia. But they keep themselves to themselves. I promise you the
panther won't try to sit on your lap. And you'll be just in time to
christen him. We've been looking for a name."
"I should love to christen the panther, and you are more than kind to
say your aunt would like me to visit her; but I can't possibly, thank
you very much," answered Victoria in the old-fashioned, quaintly
provincial way which somehow intensified the effect of her brilliant
prettiness.
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