Transcriber's Note: Page scan source: http://books.google.com/books?id=WO0BAAAAQAAJ&dq
At every Library.
LUCREZIA.
A STORY.
By MRS. COMYNS CARR,
Author of "North Italian Folk," "A Story of Autumn," &c.
1 Vol. 10s. 6d.
REMINGTON & CO., 134, New Bond St., W.
Of all Booksellers.
P A R T N E R S.
A Novel.
BY
E. WERNER.
AUTHOR OF "SUCCESS AND HOW HE WON IT," "UNDER A CHARM," "RIVEN BONDS," "NO SURRENDER," &c., &c.
TRANSLATED BY H. G. GODWIN.
London:
REMINGTON AND CO.,
New Bond Street, W.
1882.
[All Rights Reserved.]
PARTNERS.
CHAPTER I.
It was afternoon on a sunny spring day. The profound Sabbath rest and stillness which found no place in the incessant turmoil of the great commercial seaport reigned the more undisturbed around a country house which lay beyond the great sea of buildings near the shore, and whose park-like grounds stretched down to the water. It was one of those imposing, elegantly and luxuriously appointed villas which rich townspeople usually inhabit when they wish to live secure from street noises and confusion, and yet would be able to reach the town without great loss of time. In the drawing-room, whose French windows opened upon the garden terrace, were a lady and gentleman engaged in an eager and obviously earnest conversation. The cheeks of the young lady glowed in hot excitement, and she struggled visibly with hardly repressed tears, while the gentleman appeared perfectly indifferent and unmoved. He was a man of middle age, but with already completely grey hair, and grave, cold features; his whole appearance betokened the business man. The calm and cool indifference of his manner was not lost for a moment in the most exciting conversation, and even his mode of speaking was dry and businesslike, without a trace of any warmer feeling.
"Really, Jessie," said he, "I am weary of this constant repetition of the old lamentations. As your guardian and relative I have undertaken the care of your future, and I should have thought the future which I lay before you acceptable enough. But such a silly, romantic, girlish head will never be able to judge what is for its own happiness."
The silly, romantic, girlish head was at least not deficient in grace. Without being regularly beautiful, the fair head, the delicate, but very expressive features, and the rather languishing blue eyes, had something uncommonly attractive.
At this moment, however, the youthful countenance bore the expression of passionate excitement, and the same excitement trembled in her voice when she replied--
"My happiness! What you call by that name, Uncle Sandow, lies immeasurably far from what is happiness to me."
"Will you, perhaps, tell me what misty and fantastic idea you connect with the word?" said Sandow, in a sarcastic tone. "Happiness is a brilliant position in life, in the midst of wealth, at the side of a husband who, under all circumstances, can be a support to you. That is offered to you with the hand of a man"--
"Whom I don't even know," interrupted Jessie.
"But whose acquaintance you will make within an hour. Besides, my brother is no stranger to you, even if you have not yet actually seen him. According to his portrait, his exterior leaves nothing to be wished for, and you have declared that no other inclination binds you. Why, then, this obstinate struggle against a union for which Gustave is already prepared?"
