Rulers of kings: A novelAtherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
General
Rulers of kings: A novel
Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
Statesmen -- Fiction
Therefore was her most characteristic product filled with a quiet
and gentle arrogance, sadly, if contemptuously, confident of the
illimitable powers of wealth, and owning to a sincere respect for
but one man in Europe. With that man, in spite of a deep and mutual
friendship, he played many a game of chess, and once in a while he was
beaten.
He no longer regarded the severe and ofttimes thunderous visage of
William of Germany with envy; for time and work, fever and bitter
anxieties had robbed his own face of all its freshness and most of
its youth. His long body had lost its lankness, and was closely knit,
properly covered, and very erect and imposing; but his face was thin,
sallow, lined, and his finely cut features had acquired the sharpness
peculiar to the American of intellect who gives his life to practical
affairs--the sort that has the mere million-making kink is always as
fat of face as of wit. But his smile was still quick and delightful,
and his eyes, if sharper, were as bright and dark, sometimes as happy
and eager as ever. He had acquired the trick of throwing back his head,
lowering his upper lid, and darting a look over a cheek-bone, which
was merely impish, or peculiarly disconcerting, according to his mood.
As regards the rest of his personal appearance on this October morning
in Hungary, he wore a sweater, the oldest pair of trousers in his
wardrobe, and a straw hat with the brim turned down--by which it will
be seen there was a good deal of the old Fessenden left.
Indeed there was a great deal; and as he rode straight towards the
gala village on Count Zrinyi’s estate, he was in a very susceptible
not to say sentimental frame of mind--which was usually the case when
he was alone in Europe. The fountain of romance in the depths of him
still bubbled. He had worked it deeply in the way of adventure and the
realizing of patriotic ideals, superficially when he met an attractive
woman. But life had pressed him too hard for love; moreover, he was
easily disillusioned, and this particular ideal increased in stature
and seemed ever more impossible of attainment. He stood on a lonely
height himself, and he wanted a woman who stood on one as lonely.
XI
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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