Genre - Romance. You are on the page - 25
Tower, Morgan discovered that he had saved as much money for his old age as a sensible man could want; that he was tired of the active pursuit--or, as he termed it, of the dignified quackery of his profession; and that it was only common charity to give his invalid brother a companion who could physic him for nothing, and so prevent him from getting rid of his money in the worst of all possible ways, by wasting it on doctors' bills. In a week after Morgan had arrived at these conclusions, he
never eat more than anomelette and some fruit for luncheon, compelled to sit down every day toa mittagessen! I wonder I have any digestion left at all.""Do you mean that you were there under your own name?" he askedincredulously. She shook her head. "I secured some perfectly good testimonials before I left," she said."They referred to a Miss Brown, the daughter of Prebendary Brown. I wasMiss Brown." "Great Heavens!" Nigel muttered under his breath.
said--" only every winter it was a different "he."In my wash-stand drawer I'd kept all the clippings about her coming out and the winter she spent in Washington and was supposed to be engaged to the president's son, and the magazine article that told how Mr. Jennings had got his money by robbing widows and orphans, and showed the little frame house where Miss Patty was born--as if she's had anything to do with it. And so now I was cutting out the picture of her and the prince and
daub on the easel."Ask him, then, if he would not like to learn French." "To learn French?" "To take lessons." "To take lessons, my daughter? From thee?" "From you!" "From me, my child? How should I give lessons?" "Pas de raisons! Ask him immediately!" said Mademoiselle Noemie, with soft brevity. M. Nioche stood aghast, but under his daughter's eye he collected his wits, and, doing his best to assume an agreeable smile, he
ture upon his dome as well as the colour decorations!""'Tis true, my ancient?" another asked of me. I made no repartee, continuing to sit with my chin dependent upon my cravat, but with things not the same in my heart as formerly to the arrival of that grey pongee, the grey glove, and the beautiful voice. Since King Charles the Mad, in Paris no one has been completely free from lunacy while the spring-time is happening. There is something in the sun and the banks of the Seine.