Good-bye, sweetheart!; a novel
Rhoda Broughton
Paperback
(RareBooksClub.com, May 16, 2012)
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1872 Excerpt: ...says the young man, indicating with a slight motion of the hand the white flower that, resting on Lenore's breast, contrasts the dark folds of her serge gown; "suppose you give it me?" "Suppose I do not!" "You will really, won't you?" (stooping forward a little, and stretching out his hand to receive the demanded gift). "Most certainly not!" ' All right!" (resuming his former position, and speaking with languid indifference); "it is a half-withered little vegetable, and I am not sure that I would take it now if you offered it me; but all the same, I have a conviction that before the evening is over it will be mine." "You have, have you?" cries Lenore, with flashing eyes; "sooner than that you should ever have it--look here!" She runs to the window, unbolts the shutters, and opening the casement throws the flower out into the wild sleet. Thrice the winter's cold gust drives it back against her, but the third time it disappears. Then she shuts the window, and returns to the fire. "What a fine thing it is to have a spirit!" says Scrope, walking to the door. He does not look particularly vexed, but his cheek is flushed. When he is gone, I retire behind the portière to write letters; Lenore maintains her former position, thinking, smiling to herself, and curling the pug's tight fawn tail round her fingers. In about ten minutes the door reopens, and Mr. Scrope again enters. His boots are miry, his shooting-coat is drenched, large rain-drops shine and glisten on his bare gold curls, but in his hand he holds the bit of deutzia, muddied, stained, dispetalled almost past recognition, but still the identical spray that floated out on the storm-blast through the opened window. &qu...