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But one might only be wounded that is the lottery of it so I stipulate that if fortune should favor me, and you still live, you shall agree to leave me in undisturbed possession of the field for at least six months after our encounter." Medenham still refused to look at him. "I agree to no terms or conditions whatsoever," he answered.
Of course, my lord, I knew well enough what he meant, but I wanted to have it straight, an' I got it." Dale's style of speech was elliptical, though he might have been surprised if told so. For once, Medenham wished he was a loquacious man. "Was nothing else said?" he asked. "No message from anyone? No reason given? What brought Simmonds to Chester?" "Mr.
Of course, Marigny was right when he foresaw that Vanrenen could not meet either Medenham or any of his relatives for five minutes without his "poor little cobweb of intrigue" being dissipated once and forever.
No mistake, now, Dale. He must see no one in the hotel until he and I have had a talk." Simmonds was produced. He saluted. "Glad to meet you again, my lord," he said. "I hope I haven't caused any trouble by sending that telegram to Bournemouth, but Dale tells me that you don't wish your title to be known." "Forget it," said Medenham.
One ought to consider the world we live in; Cynthia will be one of its leaders, and it will never do to have people saying that Viscount Medenham became engaged to Cynthia Vanrenen while acting as the lady's chauffeur during a thousand-mile run through the West of England and Wales. Now, what am I to do?" The answer came from a bedroom window that overlooked the veranda. "Mr. Fitzroy!"
Medenham had gone, striding away up the hillside in a very frenzy of happiness. Four days, and Cynthia as good as won! Was it possible, then, that the disguised prince of the fairytale could be a reality that such romances might still be found in this gray old world? Four days!
With that the bubble was pricked, and staid Ludlow became a busy market-town again, its streets blocked by the barrows of hucksters and farmers' carts, its converging roads thronged with cattle. At Shrewsbury Medenham was vouchsafed a gleam of frosty humor by Mrs. Devar's anxiety lest her son might have obeyed her earlier injunctions, and kept tryst at "The Raven" after all.
Crowded coaches, four rows deep, lined the rails near the judge's box, and the gay-hued parasols of their feminine occupants almost completely blocked the view, a distant one in any case, owing to the width of the intervening valley. Medenham raised no further protest.
Devar muttered something about the mistake one made when one encouraged servants to be too familiar. But Cynthia was not to be repressed. She was bubbling over with high spirits, and amused herself by telling Medenham that Henry V. was born at Monmouth and afterwards won the battle of Agincourt "scraps of history not generally known," she confided to him. From the back of the car Mrs.
"Very well. Stop in Bristol, and be d d to you. Is there any reason why you should not take me to pick up my son's belongings? Then Dale and I can go to Hereford by train. Viscount Medenham is devilish particular about his linen. If I stick to his shirts I shall meet him sometime to-day, I suppose."
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