Not a doubt about that, mind you, Mrs. Germain."
She smiled upon him kindly. "None at all," she said. "I like him
extremely."
"You would, you know," said Chevenix, his tones rich in sympathy. "All
women do. You couldn't help it. You've got such a kind heart. All women
have. Now, I've known Senhouse himself five or six years, but I've known
about him for at least eight. I used to hear about him from morn to dewy
eve, once upon a time, from one--of--the--loveliest and most charming
girls you ever met in your life. Did you know her? A Miss Percival--
Sanchia Percival. We used to call her Sancie. Thought you might have met
her, perhaps. No? Well, this chap Senhouse would have gone through the
fire for her. He would have said his prayers to her. Did you ever see his
poems about her? My word! He published 'em after the row, you know. He as
good as identified her with--well, we won't mention names, Mrs. Germain,
but he identified her with a certain holy lady not a hundred miles from
the Kingdom of Heaven. Blasphemous old chap--he did, though."
Mrs. Germain, toying with her scent-bottle, was interested. "I never heard
him speak about a Miss Percival," she said. She used a careless tone, but
her flickering eyelids betrayed her.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25