The day's journey

Rose Summers paused a moment before she lifted the latch of a little gate set between two walls of yew. It was June. The sky had the blue of larkspur, the air was sweet with the...

“I’m dying to go into the garden,” said Mrs. Summers. She slipped her arm within Cecily’s, and while she talked volubly, felt its trembling gradually lessen. “Tongue cannot tell...

Rose saw with relief that though her face was still colorless it was quite calm, and almost before she had realized that a man was crossing the lawn towards them, she heard her...

The evening had worn to an end--a really terrible evening for Rose, though both she and Cecily had talked and laughed with apparent ease. Cecily followed her cousin into her bed...

It was Lady Wilmot’s at-home day, but so early in the afternoon that she could still indulge in the _tête-à-tête_ gossip with the friend who had lunched with her, a branch of he...

Rose Summers had gone, and during the week which separated her departure from Mayne’s expected visit, Cecily spent the long solitary days in the garden. Early every morning Robe...

Diana came next day, and with her, brought the atmosphere of gay irrepressibleness that belongs to extreme youth. Diana was seventeen. She wore her hair tied, as she expressed i...

A week later Kingslake was sitting in his study, before a table littered with papers, doing nothing. It was nearly twelve o’clock. At half-past one Philippa Burton was coming to...

“What a sweet garden you have!” exclaimed Philippa, putting down her coffee-cup. They had returned to the yew enclosure after lunch. She had thrown aside her hat with one of the...

The moment had come for which Robert, on that day at least, had scarcely dared to hope. He was alone with Philippa! He changed his seat for one nearer to her, and looked at her...

The Kingslakes had been in town nearly eight months. They had taken a flat in Westminster, and Cecily had been thankful for the work entailed by the move. She was thankful to le...

“My dear!” said Lady Wilmot, as her motor-car stopped in Dover Street before her club. “Who’d have thought of seeing you?” The man opened the door, and she descended with a rust...

Philippa’s “studio” was a somewhat uncomfortable apartment with a north light. Its walls were covered with brown paper, upon which were pinned hasty little sketches by the lates...

By the time November came round again, Cecily’s life had settled down to a more or less steady routine. She gave the mornings to her work, and her book was growing. Her afternoo...

One day early in April, Kingslake, who was walking towards the district station at Victoria, was stopped by a man he knew slightly and would like to have known better; a man jus...

The sight of the green-covered volume with Cecily’s name in gilt letters upon it affected him with an odd, unclassified, but very strong emotion. It was a moment before he could...

The weeks that followed were difficult weeks for Robert. Cecily’s book was a success in so far that from the artist’s standpoint it attracted just the right sort of attention. I...

By the next morning Robert had determined to leave town for a week or two, and take a holiday. He felt ill and nervous; his work was suffering; he would take advantage of a stan...

For some considerable time past, the plastic heart of Philippa had been undergoing its periodical regeneration. It now yearned in all sincerity for the domestic life. Nigel’s de...

Cecily had received the intimation with secret resentment. It struck her as discourteous to their guest, that her husband, who had only just returned, should not have arranged o...

When Cecily returned, it was about six o’clock. She was tired, and after asking for Rose, and hearing that she was in her room, she decided to dress at once, and afterwards rest...

After wandering for two or three months abroad, Cecily and Diana discovered that all roads lead to Rome. In Rome, therefore, they had been established for a week, when Cecily st...

Rose was a little startled, but, on the whole, scarcely surprised by Cecily’s telegram. It was like her to act impulsively, and Rose had never been in doubt as to the right note...

While she took toilet things from her travelling-bag, and straightened her hair, they talked of Cecily’s journeyings, of travelling adventures, of the places she had visited--an...

When the door closed, Cecily, without a glance at Philippa, who stood motionless just within the room, crossed blindly to the window, and stood looking out. Half consciously she...

In the adjoining room, meantime, Rose Summers was passing through her _mauvais quart d’heure_. She was bewildered, indignant, uncertain. The whole aspect of the situation appear...

He had telegraphed to one of the servants, who had lived with them since their marriage, that he should return that evening, and as he neared the desolate home he pictured, he w...