免费看电影的公众号,神马影院免费在线观看最新电影电视剧

热门电影电视剧免费看，最新VIP影视大全

影视大全免费看，各大影视app，全网电影电视剧资源这里全都有。

由于热门资源容易和谐

全网影视资源免费看

点

我

看

………………………………………………………

……………………………

…………………………

……………………………

END

谢谢观看

   在线观看电影 在线观看网址 在线浏览电影 在线观看电视剧 在线免费观看 在线观看网址在线观看电影 在线观看网址 在线浏览电影 在线观看电视剧 在线免费观看 在线观看网址

e you would be glad. But you must find me awfully changed — awfully.’

For worlds Lady Maulevrier could not have denied this truth. Happily Lady Kirkbank did not wait for an answer.

‘Society is so wearing, and George and I

e you would be glad. But you must find me awfully changed — awfully.’

For worlds Lady Maulevrier could not have denied this truth. Happily Lady Kirkbank did not wait for an answer.

‘Society is so wearing, and George and I never seem to get an interval of quiet. Kirkbank is to be full of men next week. Your granddaughter will have a good time.’

‘There will be a few women, of course?’

‘Oh, yes, there’s no avoiding that; only one doesn’t reckon them. Sir George only counts his guns. We expect a splendid season. I shall send you some birds of my own shooting.’

‘You shoot!’ exclaimed Lady Maulevrier, amazed.

‘Shoot! I should think I do. What else is there to amuse one in Scotland, after the salmon fishing is over? I have never missed a season for the last thirty years, unless we have been abroad.’

‘Please, don’t innoculate Lesbia with your love of sport.’

‘What! you wouldn’t like her to shoot? Well, perhaps you are right. It is hardly the thing for a pretty girl with her fortune to make. It spoils the delicacy of the skin. But I’m afraid she’ll find Kirkbank dull if she doesn’t go out with the guns. She can meet us with the rest of the women at luncheon. We have some capital picnic luncheons on the moor, I can assure you.’

‘I know she will enjoy herself with you. She has been accustomed to a very quiet life here.’

‘It is a lovely spot; but I own I cannot understand how you can have lived here exclusively during all these years — you who used to be all life and fire, loving change, action, political and diplomatic society, to dance upon the crest of the wave, as it were. Your whole nature must have suffered some curious change.’

Their close intimacy of the past warranted freedom of speech in the present.

‘My nature did undergo a change, and a severe one,’ answered Lady Maulevrier, gloomily.

‘It was that horrid — and I daresay unfortunate scandal about his lordship; and then the sad shock of his death,’ murmured Lady Kirkbank, sympathetically. ‘Most women, with your youth and beauty, would have forgotten the scandal and the husband in a twelvemonth, and would have made a second marriage more brilliant than the first. But no Indian widow who ever performed suttee was more worthy of praise than you, or even that person of Ephesus, whose story I have heard somewhere. Indeed, I have always spoken of your life as a long suttee. But you mean to re-appear in society next season, I hope, when you present your granddaughter?’

‘I shall certainly go up to London to present her, and possibly I may spend the season in town; but I shall feel like Rip Van Winkle.’

‘No, no, you won’t, my dear Di. You have kept yourself au courant, I know. Even my silly gossiping letters may have been of some use.’

‘They have been most valuable. Let me give you another cup of tea,’ said Lady Maulevrier, who had been officiating at her own exquisite tea-table, an arrangement of inlaid woods, antique silver, and modern china, which her friend pronounced a perfect poem.

Indeed, the whole room was poetic, Lady Kirkbank declared, and there are many highly praised scenes which less deserve the epithet. The dark red walls and cedar dado, the stamped velvet curtains, of an indescribable shade between silver-grey and olive, the Sheraton furniture, the parqueterie floor and Persian prayer-rugs, the deep yet brilliant hues of crackle porcelain and Chinese cloisonné enamel, the artistic fireplace, with dog-stove, low brass fender, and ingle-nook recessed under the high mantelpiece, all combined to form a luxurious and harmonious whole.

Lady Kirkbank admired the tout ensemble in the fitful light of the fire, the dim grey of deepening twilight.

‘There never was a more delicious cell!’ she exclaimed, ‘but still I should feel it a prison, if I had to spend six weeks in the year in it. I never stay more than six weeks anywhere out of London; and I always find six weeks more than enough. The first fortnight is rapture, the third and fourth weeks are calm content, the fifth is weariness, the sixth a fever to be gone. I once tried a seventh week at Pontresina, and I hated the place so intensely that I dared not go back there for the next three years. But now tell me. Diana, have you really performed suttee, have you buried yourself alive in this sweet spot deliberately, or has the love of retirement grown upon you, and have you become a kind of lotus-eater?’

‘I believe I have become a kind of lotus-eater. My retirement here has been no sentimental sacrifice to Lord Maulevrier’s memory.’

‘I am glad to hear that; for I really think the worst possible use a woman can make of her life is in wasting it on lamentation for a dead and gone husband. Life is odiously short at the best, and it is mere imbecility to fritter away any of our scanty portion upon the dead, who can never be any the better for our tears.’

‘My motive in living at Fellside was not reverence for the dead. And now let us talk of the gay world, of which you know all the secrets. Have you heard anything more about Lord Hartfield?’

‘Ah, there is a subject in which you have reason to be interested. I have not forgotten the romance of your youth — that first season in which Ronald Hollister used to haunt every place at which you appeared. Do you remember that wet afternoon at the Chiswick flower-show, when you and he and I took shelter in the orange house, and you two made love to each other most audaciously in an atmosphere of orange-blossoms that almost stifled me? Yes, those were glorious days!’

‘A short summer of gladness, a brief dream,’ sighed Lady Maulevrier. ‘Is young Lord Hartfield like his father?’

‘No, he takes after the Ilmingtons; but still there is a look of your old sweetheart — yes, I think there is an expression. I have not seen him for nearly a year. He is still abroad, roaming about somewhere in search of adventures. These young men who belong to the Geographical and the Alpine Club are hardly ever at home.’

‘But though they may be sometimes lost to society, they are all the more worthy of society’s esteem when they do appear,’ said Lady Maulevrier. ‘I think there must be an ennobling influence in Alpine travel, or in the vast solitudes of the Dark Continent. A man finds himself face to face with unsophisticated nature, and with the grandest forces of the universe. Professor Tyndall writes delightfully of his Alpine experiences; his mind seems to have ripened in the solitude and untainted air of the Alps. And I believe Lord Hartfield is a young man of very high character and of considerable cultivation, is he not?’

‘He is a splendid young fellow. I never heard a word to his disparagement, even from those people who pretend to know something bad about everybody. What a husband he would make for one of your girls!’

‘Admirable! But those perfect arrangements, which seem predestined by heaven itself, are so rarely realised on earth,’ answered the dowager, lightly.

She was not going to show her cards, even to an old friend.

‘Well, it would be very sweet if they were to meet next season and fall in love with each other,’ said Lady Kirkbank. ‘He is enormously rich, and I daresay your girls will not be portionless.’

‘Lesbia may take a modest place among heiresses,’ answered Lady Maulevrier. ‘I have lived so quietly during the last forty years that I could hardly help saving money.’

‘How nice!’ sighed Georgie. ‘I never saved sixpence in my life, and am always in debt.’

‘The little fortune I have saved is much too small for division. Lesbia will therefore have all I can leave her. Mary has the usual provision as a daughter of the Maulevrier house.’

‘And I suppose Lesbia has that provision also?’

‘Of course.’

‘Lucky Lesbia. I only wish Hartfield were coming to us for the shooting. I would engage he should fall in love with her. Kirkbank is a splendid place for match-making. But the fact is I am not very intimate with him. He is almost always travelling, and when he is at home he is not in our set. And now, my dear Diana, tell me more about yourself, and your own life in this delicious place.’

‘There is so little to tell. The books I have read, the theories of literature and art and science which I have adopted and dismissed, learnt and forgotten — those are the history of my life. The ideas of the outside world reach me here only in books and newspapers; but you who have been living in the world must have so much to say. Let me be the listener.’

Lady Kirkbank desired nothing better. She rattled on for three-quarters of an hour about her doings in the great world, her social triumphs, the wonderful things she had done for Sir George, who seemed to be as a puppet in her hands, the princes and princelings she had entertained, the songs she had composed, the comedy she had written, for private representation only, albeit the Haymarket manager was dying to produce it, the scathing witticisms with which she had withered her social enemies. She would have gone on much longer, but for the gong, which reminded her that it was time to dross for dinner.

never seem to get an interval of quiet. Kirkbank is to be full of men next week. Your granddaughter will have a good time.’

‘There will be a few women, of course?’

‘Oh, yes, there’s no avoiding that; only one doesn’t reckon them. Sir George only counts his guns. We expect a splendid season. I shall send you some birds of my own shooting.’

‘You shoot!’ exclaimed Lady Maulevrier, amazed.

‘Shoot! I should think I do. What else is there to amuse one in Scotland, after the salmon fishing is over? I have never missed a season for the last thirty years, unless we have been abroad.’

‘Please, don’t innoculate Lesbia with your love of sport.’

‘What! you wouldn’t like her to shoot? Well, perhaps you are right. It is hardly the thing for a pretty girl with her fortune to make. It spoils the delicacy of the skin. But I’m afraid she’ll find Kirkbank dull if she doesn’t go out with the guns. She can meet us with the rest of the women at luncheon. We have some capital picnic luncheons on the moor, I can assure you.’

‘I know she will enjoy herself with you. She has been accustomed to a very quiet life here.’

‘It is a lovely spot; but I own I cannot understand how you can have lived here exclusively during all these years — you who used to be all life and fire, loving change, action, political and diplomatic society, to dance upon the crest of the wave, as it were. Your whole nature must have suffered some curious change.’

Their close intimacy of the past warranted freedom of speech in the present.

‘My nature did undergo a change, and a severe one,’ answered Lady Maulevrier, gloomily.

‘It was that horrid — and I daresay unfortunate scandal about his lordship; and then the sad shock of his death,’ murmured Lady Kirkbank, sympathetically. ‘Most women, with your youth and beauty, would have forgotten the scandal and the husband in a twelvemonth, and would have made a second marriage more brilliant than the first. But no Indian widow who ever performed suttee was more worthy of praise than you, or even that person of Ephesus, whose story I have heard somewhere. Indeed, I have always spoken of your life as a long suttee. But you mean to re-appear in society next season, I hope, when you present your granddaughter?’

‘I shall certainly go up to London to present her, and possibly I may spend the season in town; but I shall feel like Rip Van Winkle.’

‘No, no, you won’t, my dear Di. You have kept yourself au courant, I know. Even my silly gossiping letters may have been of some use.’

‘They have been most valuable. Let me give you another cup of tea,’ said Lady Maulevrier, who had been officiating at her own exquisite tea-table, an arrangement of inlaid woods, antique silver, and modern china, which her friend pronounced a perfect poem.

Indeed, the whole room was poetic, Lady Kirkbank declared, and there are many highly praised scenes which less deserve the epithet. The dark red walls and cedar dado, the stamped velvet curtains, of an indescribable shade between silver-grey and olive, the Sheraton furniture, the parqueterie floor and Persian prayer-rugs, the deep yet brilliant hues of crackle porcelain and Chinese cloisonné enamel, the artistic fireplace, with dog-stove, low brass fender, and ingle-nook recessed under the high mantelpiece, all combined to form a luxurious and harmonious whole.

Lady Kirkbank admired the tout ensemble in the fitful light of the fire, the dim grey of deepening twilight.

‘There never was a more delicious cell!’ she exclaimed, ‘but still I should feel it a prison, if I had to spend six weeks in the year in it. I never stay more than six weeks anywhere out of London; and I always find six weeks more than enough. The first fortnight is rapture, the third and fourth weeks are calm content, the fifth is weariness, the sixth a fever to be gone. I once tried a seventh week at Pontresina, and I hated the place so intensely that I dared not go back there for the next three years. But now tell me. Diana, have you really performed suttee, have you buried yourself alive in this sweet spot deliberately, or has the love of retirement grown upon you, and have you become a kind of lotus-eater?’

‘I believe I have become a kind of lotus-eater. My retirement here has been no sentimental sacrifice to Lord Maulevrier’s memory.’

‘I am glad to hear that; for I really think the worst possible use a woman can make of her life is in wasting it on lamentation for a dead and gone husband. Life is odiously short at the best, and it is mere imbecility to fritter away any of our scanty portion upon the dead, who can never be any the better for our tears.’

‘My motive in living at Fellside was not reverence for the dead. And now let us talk of the gay world, of which you know all the secrets. Have you heard anything more about Lord Hartfield?’

‘Ah, there is a subject in which you have reason to be interested. I have not forgotten the romance of your youth — that first season in which Ronald Hollister used to haunt every place at which you appeared. Do you remember that wet afternoon at the Chiswick flower-show, when you and he and I took shelter in the orange house, and you two made love to each other most audaciously in an atmosphere of orange-blossoms that almost stifled me? Yes, those were glorious days!’

‘A short summer of gladness, a brief dream,’ sighed Lady Maulevrier. ‘Is young Lord Hartfield like his father?’

‘No, he takes after the Ilmingtons; but still there is a look of your old sweetheart — yes, I think there is an expression. I have not seen him for nearly a year. He is still abroad, roaming about somewhere in search of adventures. These young men who belong to the Geographical and the Alpine Club are hardly ever at home.’

‘But though they may be sometimes lost to society, they are all the more worthy of society’s esteem when they do appear,’ said Lady Maulevrier. ‘I think there must be an ennobling influence in Alpine travel, or in the vast solitudes of the Dark Continent. A man finds himself face to face with unsophisticated nature, and with the grandest forces of the universe. Professor Tyndall writes delightfully of his Alpine experiences; his mind seems to have ripened in the solitude and untainted air of the Alps. And I believe Lord Hartfield is a young man of very high character and of considerable cultivation, is he not?’

‘He is a splendid young fellow. I never heard a word to his disparagement, even from those people who pretend to know something bad about everybody. What a husband he would make for one of your girls!’

‘Admirable! But those perfect arrangements, which seem predestined by heaven itself, are so rarely realised on earth,’ answered the dowager, lightly.

She was not going to show her cards, even to an old friend.

‘Well, it would be very sweet if they were to meet next season and fall in love with each other,’ said Lady Kirkbank. ‘He is enormously rich, and I daresay your girls will not be portionless.’

‘Lesbia may take a modest place among heiresses,’ answered Lady Maulevrier. ‘I have lived so quietly during the last forty years that I could hardly help saving money.’

‘How nice!’ sighed Georgie. ‘I never saved sixpence in my life, and am always in debt.’

‘The little fortune I have saved is much too small for division. Lesbia will therefore have all I can leave her. Mary has the usual provision as a daughter of the Maulevrier house.’

‘And I suppose Lesbia has that provision also?’

‘Of course.’

‘Lucky Lesbia. I only wish Hartfield were coming to us for the shooting. I would engage he should fall in love with her. Kirkbank is a splendid place for match-making. But the fact is I am not very intimate with him. He is almost always travelling, and when he is at home he is not in our set. And now, my dear Diana, tell me more about yourself, and your own life in this delicious place.’

‘There is so little to tell. The books I have read, the theories of literature and art and science which I have adopted and dismissed, learnt and forgotten — those are the history of my life. The ideas of the outside world reach me here only in books and newspapers; but you who have been living in the world must have so much to say. Let me be the listener.’

Lady Kirkbank desired nothing better. She rattled on for three-quarters of an hour about her doings in the great world, her social triumphs, the wonderful things she had done for Sir George, who seemed to be as a puppet in her hands, the princes and princelings she had entertained, the songs she had composed, the comedy she had written, for private representation only, albeit the Haymarket manager was dying to produce it, the scathing witticisms with which she had withered her social enemies. She would have gone on much longer, but for the gong, which reminded her that it was time to dross for dinner.