Modern Chronicle

Winston Churchill

Description

Deviating from the long line of strong and stoic male protagonists who featured in his other novels, American author Winston Churchill turns his attention to the fairer sex in the charming novel A Modern Chronicle. Well-born mademoiselle Honora Leffingwell has kept afloat since her father's tragically premature death, but will she ever feel whole enough to give herself over to love?

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 octobre 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775561828
• Langue: English

Extrait

A MODERN CHRONICLE
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WINSTON CHURCHILL
 
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A Modern Chronicle First published in 1910 ISBN 978-1-77556-182-8 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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BOOK I Chapter I - What's in Heredity Chapter II - Perdita Recalled Chapter III - Concerning Providence Chapter IV - Of Temperament Chapter V - In Which Providence Beeps Faith Chapter VI - Honora Has a Glimpse of the World Chapter VII - The Olympian Order Chapter VIII - A Chapter of Conquests Chapter IX - In Which the Vicomte Continues His Studies Chapter X - In Which Honora Widens Her Horizon Chapter XI - What Might Have Been Chapter XII - Which Contains a Surprise for Mrs. Holt BOOK II Chapter I - So Long as Ye Both Shall Live! Chapter II - "Stafford Park" Chapter III - The Great Unattached Chapter IV - The New Doctrine Chapter V - Quicksands Chapter VI - Gad and Meni Chapter VII - Of Certain Delicate Matters Chapter VIII - Of Mental Processes—Feminine and Insoluble Chapter IX - Introducing a Revolutionizing Vehicle Chapter X - On the Art of Lion Taming Chapter XI - Containing Some Revelations BOOK III Chapter I - Ascendi Chapter II - The Path of Philanthropy Chapter III - Vineland Chapter IV - The Viking Chapter V - The Survival of the Fittest Chapter VI - Clio, or Thalia? Chapter VII - "Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness" Chapter VIII - In Which the Law Betrays a Heart Chapter IX - Wylie Street Chapter X - The Price of Freedom Chapter XI - In Which it is All Done Over Again Chapter XII - The Entrance into Eden Chapter XIII - Of the World Beyond the Gates Chapter XIV - Containing Philosophy from Mr. Grainger Chapter XV - The Pillars of Society Chapter XVI - In Which a Mirror is Held Up Chapter XVII - The Renewal of an Ancient Hospitality Chapter XVIII - In Which Mr. Erwin Seek Paris
BOOK I
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Chapter I - What's in Heredity
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Honora Leffingwell is the original name of our heroine. She was born inthe last quarter of the Nineteenth Century, at Nice, in France, and shespent the early years of her life in St. Louis, a somewhat conservativeold city on the banks of the Mississippi River. Her father was RandolphLeffingwell, and he died in the early flower of his manhood, whilefilling with a grace that many remember the post of United States Consulat Nice. As a linguist he was a phenomenon, and his photograph in thetortoise-shell frame proves indubitably, to anyone acquainted with thefashions of 1870, that he was a master of that subtlest of all arts,dress. He had gentle blood in his veins, which came from Virginiathrough Kentucky in a coach and six, and he was the equal in appearanceand manners of any duke who lingered beside classic seas.
Honora has often pictured to herself a gay villa set high above thecurving shore, the amethyst depths shading into emerald, laced withmilk-white foam, the vivid colours of the town, the gay costumes; theexcursions, the dinner-parties presided over by the immaculate youngconsul in three languages, and the guests chosen from the haute noblesseof Europe. Such was the vision in her youthful mind, added to by degreesas she grew into young-ladyhood and surreptitiously became familiarwith the writings of Ouida and the Duchess, and other literature of aneducating cosmopolitan nature.
Honora's biography should undoubtedly contain a sketch of Mrs. RandolphLeffingwell. Beauty and dash and a knowledge of how to seat a table seemto have been the lady's chief characteristics; the only daughter ofa carefully dressed and carefully, preserved widower, likewise alinguist,—whose super-refined tastes and the limited straits to whichhe, the remaining scion of an old Southern family, had been reduced by agentlemanly contempt for money, led him 'to choose Paris rather thanNew York as a place of residence. One of the occasional and carefullyplanned trips to the Riviera proved fatal to the beautiful but recklessMyrtle Allison. She, who might have chosen counts or dukes from theTagus to the Danube, or even crossed the Channel; took the dashingbut impecunious American consul, with a faith in his future that wassublime. Without going over too carefully the upward path which led tothe post of their country's representative at the court of St. James,neither had the slightest doubt that Randolph Leffingwell would treadit.
It is needless to dwell upon the chagrin of Honora's maternalgrandfather, Howard Allison Esquire, over this turn of affairs, thisunexpected bouleversement, as he spoke of it in private to his friendsin his Parisian club. For many years he had watched the personalattractions of his daughter grow, and a brougham and certain otherdelights not to be mentioned had gradually become, in his mind,synonymous with old age. The brougham would have on its panels theAllison crest, and his distinguished (and titled) son-in-law would dropin occasionally at the little apartment on the Boulevard Haussmann.Alas, for visions, for legitimate hopes shattered forever! On the daythat Randolph Leffingwell led Miss Allison down the aisle of the Englishchurch the vision of the brougham and the other delights faded. HowardAllison went back to his club.
Three years later, while on an excursion with Sir Nicholas Baker and amerry party on the Italian aide, the horses behind which Mr. and Mrs.Leffingwell were driving with their host ran away, and in the flightmanaged to precipitate the vehicle, and themselves, down the side of oneof the numerous deep valleys of the streams seeking the Mediterranean.Thus, by a singular caprice of destiny Honors was deprived of both herparents at a period which—some chose to believe—was the height oftheir combined glories. Randolph Leffingwell lived long enough to betaken back to Nice, and to consign his infant daughter and sundry otherunsolved problems to his brother Tom.
Brother Tom—or Uncle Tom, as we must call him with Honora—cheerfullyaccepted the charge. For his legacies in life had been chieflyblessings in disguise. He was paying teller of the Prairie Bank, and thethermometer registered something above 90 deg. Fahrenheit on the Julymorning when he stood behind his wicket reading a letter from HowardAllison, Esquire, relative to his niece. Mr. Leffingwell was at thisperiod of his life forty-eight, but the habit he had acquired ofassuming responsibilities and burdens seemed to have had the effect ofmaking his age indefinite. He was six feet tall, broad-shouldered, hismustache and hair already turning; his eyebrows were a trifle bushy, andhis eyes reminded men of one eternal and highly prized quality—honesty.They were blue grey. Ordinarily they shed a light which sent peopleaway from his window the happier without knowing why; but they had beenknown, on rare occasions, to flash on dishonesty and fraud like thelightnings of the Lord. Mr. Isham, the president of the bank, coined aphrase about him. He said that Thomas Leffingwell was constitutionallyhonest.
Although he had not risen above the position of paying teller, ThomasLeffingwell had a unique place in the city of his birth; and the esteemin which he was held by capitalists and clerks proves that charactercounts for something. On his father's failure and death he had enteredthe Prairie Bank, at eighteen, and never left it. If he had owned it,he could not have been treated by the customers with more respect. Thecity, save for a few notable exceptions, like Mr. Isham, called him Mr.Leffingwell, but behind his back often spoke of him as Tom.
On the particular hot morning in question, as he stood in his seersuckercoat reading the unquestionably pompous letter of Mr. Allison announcingthat his niece was on the high seas, he returned the greetings of hisfriends with his usual kindness and cheer. In an adjoining compartment along-legged boy of fourteen was busily stamping letters.
"Peter," said Mr. Leffingwell, "go ask Mr. Isham if I may see him."
It is advisable to remember the boy's name. It was Peter Erwin, andhe was a favourite in the bank, where he had been introduced by Mr.Leffingwell himself. He was an orphan and lived with his grandmother,an impoverished old lady with good blood in her veins who boarded inGraham's Row, on Olive Street. Suffice it to add, at this time, that heworshipped Mr. Leffingwell, and that he was back in a twinkling with theinformation that Mr. Isham was awaiting him.
The president was seated at his desk. In spite of the thermometerhe gave no appearance of discomfort in his frock-coat. He had scant,sandy-grey whiskers, a tightly closed and smooth-shaven upper lip, anose with-a decided ridge, and rather small but penetrating eyes inwhich the blue pigment had been used sparingly. His habitual mode ofspeech was both brief and sharp, but people remarked that he modified ita little for Tom Leffingwell.
"Come in, Tom," he said. "Anything the matter?"
"Mr. Isham, I want a week off, to go to New York."
The request, from Tom Leffingwell, took Mr. Isham's breath. One of thebank president's characteristics was an extreme interest in the privateaffairs of those who came within his zone of influence and especiallywhen these affairs evinced any irregularity.
"Randolph again?" he asked quickly.
Tom walked to the window, and stood looking out into the street. Hisvoice shook as he answered:
"Ten days ago I learned that my brother was dead, Mr. Isham."
The president glanced at the broad back of his teller. Mr. Isham's voicewas firm, his face certainly betrayed no feeling, but a flitting glea