Humphry Ward

SCENE I It was an August evening, still and cloudy after a day unusually chilly for the time of year. Now, about sunset, the temperature was warmer than it had been in the morning, and the departing sun was forcing its way through the clouds, breaking up their level masses into delicate latticework of golds and greys. The last radiant light was on the wheat-fields under the hill, and on the long chalk... more...

CHAPTER I "I don't care a hang about the Middle Classes!" said Lord Buntingford, resting his head on his hand, and slowly drawing a pen over a printed sheet that lay before him. The sheet was headed "Middle Class Defence League," and was an appeal to whom it might concern to join the founders of the League in an attempt to curb the growing rapacity of the working-classes. "Why... more...

I "Hullo! No!--Yes!--upon my soul, it is Jacob! Why, Delafield, my dear fellow, how are you?" So saying--on a February evening a good many years ago--an elderly gentleman in evening dress flung himself out of his cab, which had just stopped before a house in Bruton Street, and hastily went to meet a young man who was at the same moment stepping out of another hansom a little farther down the... more...

CHAPTER I Really, mother, I can't sit any more. I'm that stiff!—and as cold as anything.' So said Miss Bella Morrison, as she rose from her seat with an affected yawn and stretch. In speaking she looked at her mother, and not at the painter to whom she had been sitting for nearly two hours. The young man in question stood embarrassed and silent, his palette on his thumb, brush and... more...

CHAPTER I 'Shall I set the tea, Miss?' Miss Cookson turned from the window. 'Yes—bring it up—except the tea of course—they ought to be here at any time.' 'And Mrs. Weston wants to know what time supper's to be?' The fair-haired girl speaking was clearly north-country. She pronounced the 'u' in 'supper,' as though it were the German... more...

TOWARDS THE GOAL No. 1 March 24th, 1917. DEAR MR. ROOSEVELT,—It may be now frankly confessed—(you, some time ago, gave me leave to publish your original letter, as it might seem opportune)—that it was you who gave the impulse last year, which led to the writing of the first series of Letters on "England's Effort" in the war, which were published in... more...

CHAPTER II. "Look out there! For God's sake, go to your places!" The cry of the foreman reached the ears of the clinging women. They fell apart—each peering into the crowd and the tumult. Mounted on a block of wood about a dozen yards from them—waving his arm and shouting to the stream of panic-stricken workmen—they saw the man who had been their guide through the works. Four... more...

I "He ought to be here," said Lady Tranmore, as she turned away from the window. Mary Lyster laid down her work. It was a fine piece of church embroidery, which, seeing that it had been designed for her by no less a person than young Mr. Burne Jones himself, made her the envy of her pre-Raphaelite friends. "Yes, indeed. You made out there was a train about twelve." "Certainly. They... more...

Chapter I "Not a Britisher to be seen—or scarcely! Well, I can do without 'em for a bit!" And the Englishman whose mind shaped these words continued his leisurely survey of the crowded salon of a Tyrolese hotel, into which a dining-room like a college hall had just emptied itself after the mid-day meal. Meanwhile a German, sitting near, seeing that his tall neighbour had been searching... more...

CHAPTER I Making Plans   “Milly, come down! come down directly! Mother wants you. Do make haste!” “I’m just coming, Olly. Don’t stamp so. Nurse is tying my sash.” But Master Olly went on stamping, and jumping up and down stairs, as his way was when he was very much excited, till Milly appeared. Presently down she came, a sober fair-haired little maiden, with blue eyes and a turn-up nose,... more...