Excerpt from The White Wedding
Arthur Gordridge, the young master of Glanncourt, just getting better of a sickness that had brought him home from his regimental district, lay on a sofa during the forenoon of that 18th of September 1899 whose Times on the floor at his feet was furious with the news that President Kruger had refused to accept any of our propositions made to him on the eighth of the month; but even these growlings of the outbreak now near could not too greatly jingoize Gordridge"s mind that morning, and his pile of papers having slipped off the sofa, his looks hankered towards the door.
Presently when the door opened his eye brightened: but the young lady who came in was not the one whom he longed to see.
"How are you this morning, Arthur?" she asked.
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