The suspicions of Ermengarde

Fog of the colour known as pea-soup--in reality amber mixed with lemon-peel and delicately tinted with smut--pervaded the genial shades of Kensington Gardens and cast a halo of...

Having once conceded the point, Arthur did all he could to forward the foreign trip. Ermengarde must go by Calais; on those splendid turbine vessels people couldn't be ill if th...

The fear of train-sickness happily ended, Dover castle was seen climbing and cresting its bold headland, with the Roman church and Pharos traced against a pale blue sky in the t...

Was it a dream, or had she really seen the Anarchist's bearded, goggled face bending over her in close proximity to her fellow-traveller's? Who could say? These two were shroude...

The moving palace of luxury that had conveyed her in so few hours through so many dreams of magic and visions of faery, rumbled slowly out of the spacious hall of idleness commo...

Nobody seemed to know what was the exact position M. Isidore occupied in the hotel, nor, indeed, did anybody care, as long as he was civil and made himself generally useful. Yet...

The band had long stopped playing; the afternoon sunshine was growing soft, and the Jardins Publics were empty of all but a few stragglers--_bourgeois_ babies playing round moth...

That Dorris Boundrish was an exceedingly pretty girl her severest critics could not deny, nor could her greatest admirers refrain from a suspicion that she was scarcely as irres...

Monte Carlo, justly reputed one of the loveliest spots on earth, is most magically beautiful perhaps when seen from the sea, or from the long, low, wooded headland of Cap Martin.

The affair of the crocodile had by no means diminished the esteem in which Mrs. Allonby held M. Isidore; nor, to judge from an incident she witnessed from her window on the morn...

In its leisurely progress back to Mentone the train passed through the same scenes as in leaving it, but they had not the same charm. The sun was set, the air chill, the world i...

It was among the many exasperating features in Arthur's character that you could never tell if a good, honest knock hit him hard or only just glided off him, so atrocious was th...

Though conjectures as to the manner in which poor Agatha Somers had become possessed of the necklace disturbed Ermengarde's sleep, and the glow of the sapphires coloured all her...

"Little Monaco, basking," and glowing, too, as the poet says, sits on its rock that runs out into the sea, in a world of its own, cut off, distinct, aloof from the every-day wor...

With all her childishness and perversity, Ermengarde was not destitute of judgment and critical taste. Long before she reached the end of "Storm and Stress" she perceived that i...

The path immediately behind Les Oliviers, worn by the steps of many generations of mules and men, was steep and rugged, here and there sinking deeply and filled in with broken f...

"Yes; but I didn't expect to find you yet. But when I spotted you at the tea-shop I had to come. I thought you were alone. The game's up at last, and no mistake. This is good-by...

"We might as well have stayed at Rumpelmayer's, after all," she murmured, the wretchedness evoked by reading the publisher's parcel rushing back upon her at the first dull momen...

No trace of storm remained next morning; it was, on the contrary, a day of brilliant and cloudless calm, a lotus-eating day, made for basking in sunshine and rejoicing only to b...

"After all," Ivor said, as he walked with the Anarchist through the gardens of the Casino, now sleeping with doubled magic under a starry sky, "this isn't such a beastly hole. I...

Ermengarde always maintained afterwards that she had suspected the Anarchist's identity from the first, though this assertion scarcely agreed with the descriptions she had writt...