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"I see," Hugh repeated. "I see! Mrs. Bonner," he said, "will you do something for me?" "Anything, of course!" "Will you take a letter for me to Miss Joan Meredyth?" Would she not? Mrs. Bonner caught her breath. Then there was something between these two, even though Miss Joan Meredyth was engaged to marry Mr. John Everard of Buddesby! "Mrs.
If he needs me, it is he who must come to me. I will not send for him." It was her pride's last fight, a fine fight it made. For days she struggled against the yearning of her heart, against the wealth of love, pent-up and stored within; valiantly and bravely pride fought. To-day she had been to the hospital. She had stopped, as she often did, at Buddesby. There was talk of a marriage there.
She did not like her. She resented her; but for Helen, there would never have been any break in the old happy life at Buddesby. "So you wish to see Joan, why?" "Privately." "My dear child, surely " "I am not a child, and I wish to see Joan Meredyth privately, and surely I have the right, Mrs. Everard?" Helen frowned. "Well, at any rate you cannot see her now. She is engaged, a friend is with her."
"If you find yourself at any time over at Little Langbourne, we'd be glad to see you. My name's Everard, my place is Buddesby." "Thanks! It is very good of you, and I shan't forget!" He nodded, smiled, and walked on, then glanced back. He could see Johnny fumbling with the car, and he smiled. "That's my hated rival, and he seems a decent sort of chap." An hour later he was back at Mrs.
"I am here for money, and I want it, and mean to have it five thousand this time!" "I shall not pay you!" "Oh, you won't you won't! Then I go to Buddesby. I'll have a little chat there. I'll tell them a few things about Marlbury and about a trip to Australia that did not come off, and about a marriage that never took place.
For generations the Everards had been gentlemen farmers, farming their own land and doing exceedingly badly by it. Matthew, late owner of Buddesby, had taken up French gardening on a large scale, and had squandered a great part of his capital on glass cloches, fragments of which were likely to litter Buddesby for many a year to come.
The cloud had passed completely away, and so too had all Helen's plans; yet she did not know it. Slotman opened dazed eyes and looked up into a face that might well have been the face of an angel, so soft, so pitying, so tender was its expression. "Joan!" he whispered. She nodded and smiled. "But," he said "but " and hesitated. "Joan, I went to Buddesby to see " "I know." "And yet you come here?"
This is a wonderful garden, you know far, far better than Buddesby." "It isn't," Ellice said quietly. "There's no garden in the world like Buddesby garden, and no place in the world like Buddesby, but I will come with you if you want me to." "A strange girl!" Joan said. "A very dear, good, lovable, but passionate child," Connie said. "Now let us talk of you and Johnny, Joan, of the future.
She rode into the little village, propped her bicycle against the railings that surrounded the old stocks that stood on the village green, and there sat on a seat and watched the ducks in the green village pond and the children playing cricket. Then, after waiting perhaps an hour, she would mount and ride slowly back to Buddesby again. It was the programme that she carried out this morning.
Constance was twenty-six, John, the master of Buddesby, was a year younger, and Ellice was eighteen, her slender body as yet childish and unformed, her gipsy-like face a little too thin. But there was beauty there, wonderful and startling beauty that would one day blossom forth. It was in the bud as yet, but the bud was near to opening.
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