Read Romance books for free


A big variety of genres offers in worldlibraryebook.com. Today we will discuss romance as one of the types books, which are very popular and interesting first of all for girls. They like to dream about their romantic future rendezvous, about kisses under the stars and many flowers. Girls are gentle, soft and sweet. In their minds everything is perfect. The ocean, white sand, burning sun….He and she are enjoying each other.
Nowadays we are so lacking in love and romantic deeds. This electronic library will fill our needs with books by different authors.


What is Romance?


Reading books RomanceReading books romantic stories you will plunge into the world of feelings and love. Most of the time the story ends happily. Very interesting and informative to read books historical romance novels to feel the atmosphere of that time.
In this genre the characters can be both real historical figures and the author's imagination. Thanks to such historical romantic novels, you can see another era through the eyes of eyewitnesses.
Critics will say that romance is too predictable. That if you know how it ends, there’s no point in reading it. Sorry, but no. It’s okay to choose between genres to get what you need from your books. But in romance the happy ending is a feature.It’s so romantic to describe the scene when you have found your True Love like in “fairytale love story.”




Read romance online


On our website you can read books romance online without registration. Every day spent some time to find your new favourite book in the coolest library. Tablets and smartphones are the most-used devices to read electronic books. Our website is very easy to use. No need for registration. Access around the clock.
Let your romantic story begin with our electronic library.

Read books online » Romance » The End of Her Honeymoon by Marie Belloc Lowndes (literature books to read .TXT) 📖

Book online «The End of Her Honeymoon by Marie Belloc Lowndes (literature books to read .TXT) 📖». Author Marie Belloc Lowndes



1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ... 28
Go to page:
wish it, I will do so.”

And Daisy Burton turned away, up the stairs again, very reluctantly. Her indulgent father was not given to interfere with even the most casual of her friendships, and she already felt as if this attractive young Englishwoman was to be her friend.

Madame Poulain came slowly across the courtyard, and the Senator was struck by her look of ill-health, of languor. Clearly the worthy woman was overtaxing her strength. It was foolish of the Poulains not to have more help in, but French people were like that!

Senator Burton knew that these good folks were trying to amass as large a dowry as possible for their adored only child. Virginie was now of marriageable age, and the Poulains had already selected in their own minds the man they wished to see their son-in-law. He was owner of an hotel at Chantilly, and as he was young, healthy, and reputed kind and good-tempered, he had the right to expect a good dowry with his future wife. The fact that this was an Exhibition Year was a great stroke of luck for the Poulains. It almost certainly meant that their beloved Virginie would soon be settled close to them in charming salubrious Chantilly….

The proprietress of the HĂ´tel Saint Ange now stood close to Senator Burton and his companion. Her voluble tongue was stilled for once: she was twisting a corner of her blue check apron round and round in her strong, sinewy-looking fingers.

“Well, Madame Poulain,” the American spoke very gravely, “there has evidently been some strange misunderstanding. This lady asserts most positively that she arrived here last night accompanied by her husband, Mr. Dampier.”

A look of—was it anger or pain?—came over Madame Poulain’s face. She shook her head decidedly. “I have already told monsieur,” she said quickly, “that this lady arrived here last night alone. I know nothing of her husband: I did not even know she was married. To tell you the truth, monsieur, we ought to have made her fill in the usual form. But it was so late that we put off the formality till to-day. I now regret very much that we did so.”

The Senator looked questioningly at Nancy Dampier. She had become from red very white. “Do you understand what she says?” he asked slowly, impassively.

“Yes—I understand. But she is not telling the truth.”

The Senator hesitated. “I have known Madame Poulain a long time,” he said.

“Yes—and you’ve only known me a few minutes.”

Nancy Dampier felt as though she were living through a horrible nightmare—horrible and at the same time absurd. But she made a great effort to remain calm, and to prove herself a sensible woman. So she added quietly: “I can’t tell—I can’t in the least guess—why this woman is telling such a strange, silly untruth. It is easy to prove the truth of what I say, Mr. Burton. My husband’s name is John Dampier. He is an artist, and has a studio here in Paris.”

“Do you know the address of your husband’s studio, Mrs. Dampier?”

“Of course I do.” The question stung her, this time past endurance. “I think I had better have a cab and drive there straight,” she said stiffly. “Please forgive me for having given you so much trouble. I’ll manage all right by myself now.”

Every vestige of colour had receded from her face. There was a frightened, hunted expression in her blue eyes, and the Senator felt a sudden thrill of concern, of pity. What did it all mean? Why should this poor girl—she looked even younger than his daughter—pretend that she had come here accompanied, if, after all, she had not done so?

Madame Poulain was still looking at them fixedly, and there was no very pleasant expression on her face.

“Well,” she said at last, “that comes of being too good-natured, Monsieur le Sénateur. I never heard of such a thing! What does mademoiselle accuse us of? Does she think we made away with her friend? She may have arrived with a man—as to that I say nothing—but I assert most positively that in that case he left her before she actually came into the Hôtel Saint Ange.”

“Will you please ask her to call me a cab?” said Nancy trembling.

And he transmitted the request; adding kindly in English, “Of course I am coming with you as far as your husband’s studio. I expect we shall find that Mr. Dampier went there last night. The Poulains have forgotten that he came with you: you see they are very tired and overworked just now—”

But Nancy shook her head. It was impossible that the Poulains should have forgotten Jack.

Madame Poulain went a step nearer to Senator Burton and muttered something, hurriedly. He hesitated.

“Mais si, Monsieur le Sénateur.”

And very reluctantly he transmitted the woman’s disagreeable message. “She thinks that perhaps as you are going to your husband’s rooms, you had better take your trunk with you, Mrs. Dampier.”

Nancy assented, almost eagerly. “Yes, do ask her to have my trunk brought down! I would far rather not come back here.” She was still quite collected and quiet in her manner. “But, Mr. Burton, hadn’t I better pay? Especially if they persist in saying I came alone?” she smiled, a tearful little smile. It still seemed so—so absurd.

She took out her purse. “I haven’t much money, for you see Jack always pays everything. But I’ve got an English sovereign, and I can always draw a cheque. I have my own money.”

And the Senator grew more and more bewildered. It was clear that this girl was either speaking the truth, or else that she was a most wonderful actress. But, as every man who has reached the Senator’s age is ruefully aware, very young women can act on occasion in ordinary every day life, as no professional actress of genius ever did or ever will do on a stage.

Madame Poulain went off briskly, and when she came back a few moments later, there was a look of relief, almost of joy, on her face. “The cab is here,” she exclaimed, “and Jules has brought down madame’s trunk.”

Nancy looked at the speaker quickly. Then she was “madame” again? Well, that was something.

“Three francs—that will quite satisfy us,” said Madame Poulain, handing over the change for her English sovereign. It was a gold napoleon and a two-franc piece. For the first time directly addressing Mrs. Dampier, “There has evidently been a mistake,” she said civilly. “No doubt monsieur left madame at the door, and went off to his studio last night. I expect madame will find monsieur there, quite safe and sound.”

Senator Burton, well as he believed himself to be acquainted with his landlady, would have been very much taken aback had he visioned what followed his own and Mrs. Dampier’s departure from the Hôtel Saint Ange.

Madame Poulain remained at the door of the porte cochère till the open carriage turned the corner of the narrow street. Then she looked at her nephew.

“How much did she give you?” she asked roughly. And the young man reluctantly opened a grimy hand and showed a two franc piece.

She snatched it from him, and motioned him back imperiously towards the courtyard.

After he had gone quite out of sight she walked quickly up the little street till she came to a low, leather-bound door which gave access to the church whose fine buttress bestowed such distinction on the otherwise rather sordid Rue Saint Ange. Pushing open the door she passed through into the dimly-lit side aisle where stood the Lady Altar.

This old church held many memories for Madame Poulain. It was here that Virginie had been christened, here that there had taken place the funeral service of the baby son she never mentioned and still bitterly mourned, and it was there, before the High Altar, to the right of which she now stood, that she hoped to see her beloved daughter stand ere long a happy bride.

She looked round her for a moment, bewildered by the sudden change from the bright sunlit street to the shadowed aisle. Then she suddenly espied what she had come to seek. Close to where she stood an alms-box clamped to the stone wall had written upon it the familiar legend, “Pour les Pauvres.”

Madame Poulain took a step forward, then dropped the three francs Nancy Dampier had just paid her, and the two francs she had extracted from Jules’s reluctant hand, into the alms-box.

CHAPTER III

That the cabman was evidently familiar with the odd address, “Impasse des Nonnes,” brought a measure of relief to Senator Burton’s mind, and as he turned and gazed into the candid eyes of the girl sitting by his side he was ashamed of his vague suspicions.

The little carriage bowled swiftly across the great square behind which wound the Rue Saint Ange, up one of the steep, picturesque streets which lead from thence to the Luxembourg Gardens.

When they had gone some considerable way round the gay and stately pleasance so dear to the poets and students of all nations, they suddenly turned into the quaintest, quietest thoroughfare imaginable, carved out of one of those old convent gardens which till lately were among the most beautiful and characteristic features of the “Quartier.”

An architect, who happened also to be an artist, had set up in this remote and peaceful oasis his household gods, adding on this, his own domain, a few studios with living rooms attached.

A broad, sanded path ran between the low picturesque buildings, and so the carriage was obliged to draw up at the entrance to the Impasse.

Senator Burton looked up at the cabman: “Better not take off the lady’s trunk just yet,” he said quickly in French, and though Nancy Dampier made no demur, she looked surprised.

They began walking up the shaded path, for above the low walls on either side sprang flowering shrubs and trees.

“What a charming place!” exclaimed the Senator, smiling down at her. “How fond you and your husband must be of it!”

But his companion shook her head. “I’ve never been here,” she said slowly. “You see this is my first visit to Paris. Though I ought not to call it a visit, for Paris is to be my home now,” and she smiled at last, happy in the belief that in a few moments she would see Jack.

She was a little troubled at the thought that Jack would be disappointed at her coming here in this way, with a stranger. But surely after she had explained the extraordinary occurrence of the morning he would understand?

They were now opposite No. 3. It was a curious, mosque-like building, with the domed roof of what must be the studio, in the centre. Boldly inscribed on a marble slab set above the door was the name, “John Dampier.”

Before the bell had well stopped ringing, a sturdy apple-faced old woman, wearing the Breton dress Jack so much admired, stood before them.

Nancy of course knew her at once for Mère Bideau.

A pleasant smile lit up the gnarled face, and Nancy remembered what Jack had so often said as to Mère Bideau’s clever way of dealing with visitors, especially with possible art patrons.

Mrs. Dampier looked very kindly at the old woman who had been so good and so faithful a servant to her Jack, and who, she hoped, would also serve her well and faithfully.

Before the Senator had time to speak, Mère Bideau, shaking her head, observed respectfully, “Mr. Dampier is not yet arrived. But if you, monsieur, and you, madame, will give yourselves the trouble of coming back this afternoon he will certainly be here, for I am expecting him any moment—”

“Do you mean that Mr. Dampier has not been here at all this morning?” enquired the Senator.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ... 28
Go to page:

Free ebook «The End of Her Honeymoon by Marie Belloc Lowndes (literature books to read .TXT) 📖» - read online now

Comments (0)

There are no comments yet. You can be the first!
Add a comment