Free E-Books

The son had not worded his letter
with any affectionate phraseology. "Lord Porlock begs to inform Lord
de Courcy--" Such had been the commencement.
"I suppose he must have his money; else how can he live?" said the
countess, trembling.
"Live!" shouted the earl. "And so you think it proper that he should
write such a letter as that to his father!"
"It is all very unfortunate," she replied.
"I don't know where the money's to come from. As for him, if he were
starving, it would serve him right. He's a disgrace to the name and
the family. From all I hear, he won't live long."
"Oh, de Courcy, don't talk of it in that way!"
"What way am I to talk of it? If I say that he's my greatest comfort,
and living as becomes a nobleman, and is a fine healthy man of his
age, with a good wife and a lot of legitimate children, will that
make you believe it? Women are such fools. Nothing that I say will
make him worse than he is."
"But he may reform."
"Reform! He's over forty, and when I last saw him he looked nearly
sixty. There;--you may answer his letter; I won't.


Pages:
509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533