This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text, images, or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1895. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... i. "You are not going out, are you, Tancred?" It was Mrs. Ennover who, from the head of the dinner-table, addressed her son. The servants had gone, and the two were alone. "I think perhaps I may look in on Sylvia." Mr3. Ennever smiled. She had bright cheeks, bright eyes, bright hair. In her youth she had been very beautiful, and traces of that beauty she preserved. In her manner there was that which made you feel that if she had been misunderstood, as good women sometimes are, never had she been the subject of gossip. And as she smiled it was evident that she was indulgent, simple too, high-bred as well. "How strange that is, how very strange and odd. Why, do you know, you have looked in, as you call it, on Sylvia every evening since your return?" To this he assented, but absently, his eyes on the ceiling. The room was large, rather dim on this April night, and the house itself, which (3) a London actuary would have catalogued as a Noble Mansion, faced the north side of Madison Square. Though built in that remote epoch which is known as Before the "War, it compared, and favorably, too, with the new mediae valisms of recent years. It looked like a house in which people had lived and loved and died, one in which gentlefolk dwelled, a house that might have a legend, a history surely, perhaps a ghost. And now as he sat, his eyes on the ceiling, his mother's eyes were on him. Any one who was at Harvard five years ago will remember him, will recall, too, his departure for other lands, and the manner in which his subsequent return was noticed. The newspapers then had something to say. It was not alone that he had been born with a gold spoon in his mouth; but, as some one announced somewhere, with a gold pen as well. Yet that was merely one of those little jest...
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