Category: Novels
It was a party of eight, arranged by Aunt Diana. She is only my aunt by marriage, and she had with her a _bona fide_ niece, Iris Carew, a gay school-girl of seventeen, while I, Niece Martha, as Aunt Diana always calls me, own to full forty years. Professor Macquoid went for tw...
So the days passed. Iris strolled about the town with Mokes, talked on the piazza with Hoffman, and wore his roses in her hair (Hoffman was always seen with a fresh rose every m...
6. Part 6“Oh, Mokes does not make it, Mr. Hoffman. What are you thinking of? Mokes make chowder! By no means. He has his servant and the boatmen to do all the work, and sends over his wi...
5. Part 5The Professor joined us at the gate, radiant and communicative. “All this soil, you will observe, is mingled with oyster shells to the depth of several feet,” he began. “This wa...
4. Part 4Sara and I strolled over to the old light-house--a weather-beaten tower standing almost in the water, regularly fortified with walls, angles, and loop-holes--a lonely little str...
2. Part 2It was a lovely February morning; the telegraph reported zero weather in New York, but here the thermometer stood at seventy, with a fresh sea-breeze. We stepped up on to the se...
1. Part 1It was a party of eight, arranged by Aunt Diana. She is only my aunt by marriage, and she had with her a _bona fide_ niece, Iris Carew, a gay school-girl of seventeen, while I,...
7. Part 7EUGENIO. “Plenty; but not of the kind that can express itself in writing. Sara St. John has poetry, but she ought not to try to write it; she is one of the kind to--”