Mrs. Browne

“ There had entered the breakfast room the wife of John Schuyler. She saw Blake and came forward, hand outstretched, welcome in her eyes. She had come to be very like her child—her child and Schuyler's—had the daughter of Jimmy Blair—she was like her child grown up, glorified into womanhood. Her hair was the same gold-brown, a little unruly, clinging against her temples, nestling at neck-nape. Her eyes were the same deep violet—perhaps a little darker—a little softer—a little less wondering; for years bring knowledge, and when one begins to know, then one must cease, somewhat, to wonder. ”

“ At an hotel on the South Coast I met a Miss Browne, which is not her name, and I rather hope this sketch will not be read by anyone nearly related to her, as they might identify her from the description. A middle-aged lady with a brown skin, black hair and dark eyes, an oval face, fairly good-looking, her manner lively and attractive, her movements quick without being abrupt or jerky. She was highly intelligent and a good talker, with more to say than most women, and better able than most to express herself. ”

“ He could see the violet eyes, tear laden, the lithe, slender, figure of his wife in the glory of her perfect womanhood—the sturdy little body of his child, barelegged, browned, hair tumbled, waving frantically a tiny little square of muslin and shouting farewells at the highest pitch of childish treble. ”

“ You have only to wait for the year to roll by and then turn your troubles over to the natives. Young Browne can't marry Miss Ruthven inside of a year, simply because there is no Miss Ruthven. She's Lady—Lady—what's the name?"
"Deppingham."
"And Browne already has one Mrs. Browne to his credit, don't you see? Well, that settles it, I'd say. It's hardly probable that Browne will murder or divorce his wife, nor is it likely that her ladyship would have the courage to dispose of her encumbrance in either way on such short notice." ”

“ Arrived at the place of the dâk-bungalow, and the solace of unlimited ablutions, Mrs. Browne could not imagine in what respect she had ever found a dâk-bungalow wanting. Could anything be more delightful than that they should have it entirely to themselves! Between her first dâk-bungalow and this one Mrs. Browne had made steps towards the solitary Calcutta ideal. On this occasion she pulled down all the chicks, [130] and told the solitary box-wallah who had outspread his wares in the veranda against her arrival to “Jao, jeldi!” ”

“ He knew that she had crossed the room; that she was leaning, rounded arms all bare, across the back of the great chair, by the window. He did not know; he had not looked; yet he could see her, beautiful, gloriously beautiful in her strange, weird, dark beauty; head poised like a tiger lily upon its stalk; great masses of dead black hair coiled in the disorder that, of her, was order above the low, white forehead; vivid lips parted to reveal the gleam of shining teeth; long, lithe limbs in the easy relaxation that is of the panther, or the leopard. ”

“ Two minutes to eleven found Browne standing upon the platform at Charing Cross Station. It was not until he was comfortably installed in the carriage and the train was rolling out of the station, that the full meaning of what he was doing struck him. Why was he leaving England? To follow this girl. And why? For one very good reason—because he loved her! But why should he have loved her, when, with his wealth, he could have married the daughter of almost any peer in England; when, had he so desired, he could have chosen his wife from among the most beautiful or most talented women in Europe? ”

“ But when young Browne stopped the chuprassie and the coolies, and called him “old fellow” and asked him where he was going and how he had stood the journey, he gave young Browne a paw and a depreciating turn of his head over the dandy which distinctly said, “Liver complications. We all come to it. Your turn next hot weather. This country isn’t fit for a Christian to live in!” and one more homesick alien passed on to look for his lost well-being in the Hills. Mrs. Browne hoped he would find it, he was such a dear dog. ”

“ But remember always this promise that I give you: if I cannot marry you, no other man shall ever call me wife.—KATHERINE PETROVITCH."
Browne stood for some moments, like a man dazed, in the hall among the crowd of happy tourists, holding the letter in his hand, and staring straight before him. His whole being seemed numbed and dead. He could not understand it; he could not even realise that she was attempting to put herself out of his life for ever. ”

“ Browne! I have never known but one Christian in my life, and that was John Temple."
Dr. Browne felt somewhat scandalized. A member of his church to say boldly she had never known but one Christian, and that Christian a Roman Catholic; was it not incomprehensible? But then Mrs. Temple was not now in her usual mind. Due allowance must be made, and he would seek a more favorable opportunity for renewing the subject. He arose to leave.
"What shall I do, Dr. Browne? I cannot bear day nor night; life is a torture; I cannot bear life, nor can I endure to think of death. O, help me, Dr. Browne." ”

“ Browne, old man, I have been through a good deal for you to-night. I like the young lady very much, but Madame Bernstein is—well, she is Madame Bernstein. I can say no more."
"Never mind, old chap," said Browne, patting his companion on the shoulder. "You have the satisfaction of knowing that your martyrdom is appreciated; the time may come when you will want me to do the same thing for you. ”

“ And if one loves very, very much, it is sometimes a bitterness tinged with sweetness. Kathryn, lower lip clenched between white teeth, herself unhappy would have kept that unhappiness as far as possible hers alone. There were those on board that she knew. To them she went; for there was still, since time was short, too much of it. Muriel she took with her.
Schuyler, in his eyes all the virile love that such as he feel for theirs, watched her vanish amid the throngs. Then, sauntering to the rail, leaned against it.... There came into his eyes a look of abstraction, of aberration, of puzzlement. ”

“ When they came back, they found him there, alone. He lay prone, on the rug, before the great chair. The moonlight was upon his face; which was not well. Crimson petals, like drops of blood, were upon it; and the redness was crushed between his clutching fingers.
Muriel did not see; for the friend such as few men may ever hope to have and, having, may pray to keep, had thrust the child behind him.
For a long, long time they stood there.... Then slowly, the woman that had been wife turned—her head sunk forward.... She had suffered much, and yet there was in her still the power to suffer ”

“ Miss Tildy assumed the look of injured innocence, and smilingly invited Mr. Worth to take a seat.
"Do not be annoyed by what you have seen. Jane is not passionate; but the boy was rude to her, and deserved a reproof."
Without making a reply, but, with his eye fixed on young master, Mr. Worth took the offered seat. Miss Bradly, with her face buried in her hands, moved not; and the doctor sat playing with his half-filled glass of wine; but young master remained standing, his eye flashing strangely, and a bright crimson spot glowing on either cheek. ”

“ The merman said: "This is my second daughter's dowry."
"Good luck attend her!" said Civil. "It is a dowry for a princess."
"So you may say," replied the merman. "But make up your mind which of the maidens you will marry, for the third has no portion at all, because she is not my daughter; but only, as you may see, a poor silly girl taken into my family for charity."
"Truly, my lord," said Civil, whose mind was already made up, "both your daughters are too rich and far too noble for me; therefore I choose the third. Since she is poor she will best do for a poor fisherman." ”

“ She dashed water in my face, chafed my hands and temples, and consciousness soon returned.
"Why, happiness and good fortune do excite you strangely; but they say there are some that it sarves just so."
"Oh no, Biddy, I am not very well,—a little nervous. I will take some medicine."
When I joined Miss Nancy, she refused to let me assist her in dressing, saying:
"No, Ann, you look ill. Don't trouble yourself to do anything. Go lie down and rest."
I assured her repeatedly that I was perfectly well; but she only smiled, and said in a commendatory tone,
"Good girl, good girl!" ”

“ Maurice Browne ... failed with the rest of them.” What rot! In watching Brooke’s play you are not aware that you are watching “Mrs. Browne as the lame daughter” or Miriam Kiper as the mother, MacDougall as the son of an inn-keeper, or Mr. Browne as the father. You do not find time to bother about that part of your reaction. Your subjection to play and players is too strong and tense. It is the usual thing to bother after the play, questioning members—who played this role?—who played that role? ”

“ Thirteen-fourteenths looked at the paper, then at Lucy, then at Minora. Then he folded up the sheet carefully, and put it away at the bottom of his pocket.
“Now, Minora,” said the Fraction, “pull yourself together and tell us about it. Where did you see Father William, and which way did he go?”
Minora sighed, and rubbed her arms and hands and sides.
“I don’t know anything about Father William,” she said, “but I do know an old gentleman who looks as old as old, and who can jump and run, and tumble, and get up again, and never mind it at all, as if he were as young as young.” ”

“ Monsieur does not suspect it yet, and praises me for a good housekeeper. I feel pretty mean and ashamed. But”—and her voice dropped—“they are hot after Ivan, and have put monsieur on the scent. I have an idea they will search this house. I came to tell you, and Alex, if I can see her. That dragon, Mrs. Browne, watches me pretty closely.”
At that moment Mrs. Browne appeared, a dark frown on her face when she saw Zaidee. ”

“ Then Browne spoke up, as if coming from a dream:
"I say, Deppingham, you can take her out walking and pick up a crownful of fresh rubies every day or so."
"Hang it all, Browne, I'm afraid to pluck a violet these days. Every time I stoop over I feel that somebody's going to take a shot at me. I wonder why the beggars select me to shoot at. They're not always popping away at you, Browne. Why is it? I'm not looking for rubies every time I stoop over. ”

“ Lucia's eyes were following Uncle Henry's heaving chair; for the yard was full of little stones, and the invalid bumped along, not always able to keep on a smooth track. She smiled as she watched him.
"What was he talking about?" Gilbert asked, kneeling on the floor, and folding one rug that had slipped away.
"Oh, nothing," Lucia Pell answered. "You know how old people babble on sometimes about nothing." She turned and looked at him. Still the same handsome Gilbert! "What are you doing?"
"Nothing. You know how young people go on doing nothing. ”

“ You will give that promise, will you not, Jack?"
Browne considered for a moment. Embarrassing as the position had been a few moments before, it seemed even more so now. At last he made up his mind.
"Yes," he said very slowly; "since you wish it, I will give you that promise, and I believe I am doing right. You love me, Katherine?"
"Ah, you know that," she replied. "I love and trust you as I could never do another man."
"And you believe that I will do everything that a man can do to bring about the result you desire?" ”

“ And I never thought that would happen."
"It's good to be here," he returned, looking steadily upon her. "It's good to be here, Kate. It's a perfect place, this—perfect."
Elinor had risen; plucking a bending blossom, inhaling of its delicate fragrance, she had wandered through the broad archway of the arbor, toward the Sound.
There was a moment of silence. There came from between Blake's lips a deep sigh.
Kathryn looked up, quickly.
"What's the matter, Tom?"
He shook his head again.
"I don't know. Sometimes things go all wrong—dead wrong—and no one can tell why, or how, or what to do." ”

“ I wept heartily. His tender, "don't cry, Ann," only made me weep the more; and when I looked up and saw his own eyes full of tears, and his lip quivering with the unspoken pang, I felt (for the slave at least) how wretched a possession is life!
Master William cut short this parting interview, by saying,
"Never mind that trunk, Henry, Ann can carry it very well."
And, as I was about to re-shoulder it, Henry said,
"No, Ann, you mustn't carry it. I'll do it for you to-night, when my work is over. She is a woman, Mr. Summerville, and it's heavy for her; but it will not be anything for me." ”

“ The words came jostling each other—Archie was delirious; the doctor was away from Abercorn; the Kasama man would take a week to get here; and anyhow ... She did not complete the sentence. He had never been so bad as this; but the strain of the last week—was it blackwater, did I think? And ... and they had come from the sleeping sickness belt, could it be...?
She refused food, and when I had given my medicine chest to my fundi to carry, we set out along a native path in the direction she had come. Her obvious gratitude to me for coming was surprising. So pretty a woman is rarely grateful. ”