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Full Online Book HomeLong StoriesThe Reflections Of Ambrosine: A Novel - Book 2 - Chapter 14
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The Reflections Of Ambrosine: A Novel - Book 2 - Chapter 14 Post by :MarkoJevtic Category :Long Stories Author :Elinor Glyn Date :May 2012 Read :2958

Click below to download : The Reflections Of Ambrosine: A Novel - Book 2 - Chapter 14 (Format : PDF)

The Reflections Of Ambrosine: A Novel - Book 2 - Chapter 14

BOOK II CHAPTER XIV

I do not think there can be a more agreeable form of entertainment than a _tete-a-tete dinner, provided your companion is sympathetic. Anyway, to me this will always be one of the golden hours in my life to look back upon.

Never had Antony been so attractive. Every sentence was well expressed, and only when one came to think of them afterwards, did one discover their subtle flattery.

By the time the servants had finally left the room I felt like a purring cat whose fur has been all stroked the right way--at peace with the world.

The dinner had been exquisite, but I was too excited to feel hungry.

"Comtesse," said Antony, looking at the clock, "there is one good hour before the arrivals by the last train can possibly get here. Shall we spend it in the library or the drawing-room?" He did not suggest his own sitting-room.

"The library. It is more cosey."

As he held the door open for me, there was an expression in his face which again caused me the ridiculous sensation I have spoken of so often. I suddenly realized that life at some moments is worth living. Perhaps grandmamma and the Marquis were right after all, and these glimpses of paradise are the compensations.

"Will you play to me, Comtesse?" Antony said when we got to the library and he opened the piano. "I shall be selfish and sit in a comfortable chair and listen to you."

I am not a great musician, but grandmamma always said my playing gave her pleasure. The music makes me feel--so, perhaps, that is why it makes others feel, too.

I played on, it seemed to me, a long time. Then, after some tender bits of Greig, running from one to another, I suddenly stopped. The music had been talking too much to me. It said, over and over again: "Ambrosine, you love this man. He is beginning to absorb the whole of your life." And, again: "Life is short. This happiness will be over in a few moments. Live while you may."

"Why do you stop, Comtesse?" asked Antony, in a moved voice.

"I--do not know."

He rose and came and leaned on the piano, I felt--oh! I had never been so agitated in my life. At all costs he must not say anything to me, nothing that I should have to stop, nothing to break this beautiful dream--

"Oh! do you not hear the sound of carriage-wheels?" I exclaimed, in a half voice.

It broke the spell.

Antony walked to the window. He pulled the curtains aside and opened a shutter to look upon the night.

"It is the thickest fog I ever remember," he said. "I doubt if the brougham, which put up at the station, could get back here, even if they have come by the last train."

"Oh! of course they have come!" I said, unsteadily.

He did not answer, but carefully closed the shutter again and drew the curtains. I went to the fireplace and began caressing one of the dogs. My hands were cold as ice. Antony lost a little of his _sang-froid_. He picked up a paper-knife and put it down again.

It seemed to me my heart was thumping so loudly that he must hear it where he stood.

We both listened intently. Neither of us spoke. Eleven o'clock struck. The butler entered the room.

"Bilsworth has managed to get here on one of the horses, Sir Antony, and he says the last train is in, and no one arrived by it."

"Very well," said Antony, calmly. "You can shut up for the night."

And the butler went out, softly closing the door behind him.

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BOOK III CHAPTER IIIBefore the end of my visit to Harley the Duke and I became fast friends, and while not possessing Antony's lightness of wit or personal attractions, he is an agreeable companion and out of the ordinary run of young men. He promised me, as we said good-bye, that he would think of my words, and try to do something with his life to deserve my good opinion. "Come here whenever you are lonely, dear child," said my beautiful hostess, as we parted. "We delight in having you, and you must not mope at home all by yourself." The
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BOOK II CHAPTER XIIIThe fog was white round the windows as I came down to my solitary breakfast on the 4th. My heart sank. What if it should be too thick for me to start? I could not bear to think of the disappointment that would be. I forced myself to practise for an hour after breakfast. Then I wrote a long letter to the Marquis de Rochermont. Then I looked again at my watch and again at the fog. I should start at half-past two, to give plenty of time, as we should certainly have to go slowly. At last,
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