From the placid monotony of life in Brittany to the placid monotony of life in Cornwall, was not a startling transition; yet when she married Martin Disney, and bade her commonplace father and her apathetic mother good-bye, Isola felt as if she had escaped from stagnation into a fresh and vigorous atmosphere. Disney's character made all the difference. He was every inch a soldier, a keen politician, a man who had seen many countries and read many books, clear-brained, strong-willed, energetic, self-reliant. She felt what it was to belong to somebody who was capable of taking care of her. She trusted him implicitly; and she loved him with as deep a love as a girl of nineteen is capable of feeling for any lover. It may be that the capacity for deep feeling is but half developed at that age, and in that one fact may be found the key to many domestic mysteries; mysteries of unions which begin in the gladness and warmth of responsive affection, and which, a few years later, pass into a frozen region of indifference or are wrecked on sunken rocks of guilty passion. Certain it was that Isola Manwaring gave her hand to this grave, middle-aged soldier, in all the innocence of a first love; and the love with which he rewarded her confidence, the earnest watchful love of a man of mature years, was enough for her happiness. That honeymoon time, that summer of installation in the Cornish cottage, and then the leisurely journey to Venice in the waning brilliance of a southern October, seemed like one long happy dream, as she looked back upon it now, after a year of solitude. [Pg 59] It鈥檚 a burning shame,鈥?said one; and others followed on the same side, but with louder and coarser expletives. 北京赛车pk10开奖记录 [Pg 59] What's the matter? asked Oliver. Trusting, my dear Mr. Smith, that this will find you in your usual this atmosphere of academic calm I find more bracing than New York. IV. A steamer rug. (My tower is cold.) At the end of the garden are the bird sellers, their little cages packed full of parrots, minahs, and bulbuls; and tiny finches, scarcely larger than butterflies, hang on the boughs of ebony trees and daturas in bloom. It was useless to question her delusion, and Mrs. Kenyon contented herself with asking: Yes; I'm tired of workin' for old Bond; I want to go in for myself. Of course, of course. Now, I have got something to tell you. [Pg 59] and if I'm not dressed, just go on without waiting.' 'We'll wait,'