Summary

Anne Warner By Decree of Their Guardian Angel

Lord Jeovil sprang up, his eyes staring:
Sir William—do you—do you mean that—that Alix can live? Oh—you—you don't mean that.”
The old man stretched forth his hand.
“Dare,” he said, “you know why she had to promise not to marry you? I know, too. In the world's eyes you proved her mother right. In my eyes her mother condemned her more than she saved her. She has suffered to the limit for you; she will live now unless you choose to kill her. Remember.”
Jeovil stooped and swept his wife from her feet up into his arms.
“Alix,” he cried, “'you'll live to be a hundred!”
Source: Wikisource

Anne Warner By Decree of Their Guardian Angel

Jeovil came strolling in from the Pall Mall entrance at just about five o'clock. The Tea Room at the Carlton was quite as crowded as it always is at that hour and the music was going on—and the talk, too. Jeovil paused by the door and stood quite still, surveying the assembled company with a roving, but especially scrutinizing gaze. He was a big, heavily-built man with a face marred by dissipation and eyes that showed something might have gone right once if it had not gone wrong permanently instead.
The something that had gone wrong had gone wrong nine years previous.
Source: Wikisource

Anne Warner By Decree of Their Guardian Angel

Into his eyes burst fiercely the light of will and power—a light that had been stranger there through all the hopeless past.
“I'm glad of it,” he said, “oh, I'm devilish glad of it—I don't care—do you?”
“Not for myself,” she said, still hiding her face.
“Who for?”
“I care for you. I'm afraid things will go worse than ever for you—afterwards.”
Source: Wikisource

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