United States or Grenada ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
You couldn't play about with women who had no form that anyone knew anything of, however promising they might look. Then, out of a silence Winlow asked: What was to be done? Should Miltoun be wired for? A thing like this spread like wildfire! Sir William a man not accustomed to underrate difficulties was afraid it was going to be troublesome.
When my wife had George, it made me as nervous as a cat!" The Squire stopped, then hurriedly added: "But you're so used to it." Mr. Barter frowned. "I was passing Coldingham to-day," he said. "I saw Winlow. He asked after you." "Ah! Winlow! His wife's a very nice woman. They've only the one child, I think?" The Rector winced. "Winlow tells me," he said abruptly, "that George has sold his horse."
"The least touch," he said, "the least touch! I hear that our friend Sir Percival is going to stand again." Mr. Barter rose and placed his back before the fire. "Outrageous!" he said. "He ought to be told at once that we can't have him." The Hon. Geoffrey Winlow answered from his chair: "If he puts up, he'll get in; they can't afford to lose him."
We've nothing like this at Worsted Skeynes.... But suddenly he found that he could not sit there and think. Suppose his wife were to die! It happened sometimes; the wife of John Tharp of Bletchingham had died in giving birth to her tenth child! His forehead was wet, and he wiped it. Casting an angry glance at the Winlow graves, he left the seat.
Old 'Claret and Piquet, they called him; had more children under the rose than any man in Devonshire. I saw him playing half-crown points the week before he died. It's in the blood. What's George's weight? ah, ha!" "It's no laughing matter, Brandwhite. There's time for a hundred up before dinner if you care for a game, Winlow?"
He would have enjoyed a glass of beer, but, unable to enter the public-house, he went into the churchyard instead. He sat down on a bench beneath a sycamore opposite the Winlow graves, for Coldingham was Lord Montrossor's seat, and it was here that all the Winlows lay. Bees were busy above them in the branches, and Mr. Barter thought: 'Beautiful site.
The train bounded and swung as though rushing onwards to a tune, and George sat quietly in his corner. Amongst his fellows in the carriage was the Hon. Geoffrey Winlow, who, though not a racing-man, took a kindly interest in our breed of horses, which by attendance at the principal meetings he hoped to improve. "Your horse going to run, George?" George nodded.
George turned and saw Winlow, and with a curse and a smile he answered: "Hallo!" The Hon. Geoffrey ranged alongside, examining George's face at leisure. "Afraid you had a bad race, old chap! I hear you've sold the Ambler to that fellow Guilderstein." In George's heart something snapped. 'Already? he thought. 'The brute's been crowing. And it's that little bounder that my horse my horse....
Besides, she's very hard up. She doesn't even attempt to disguise it. I call her almost an adventuress." Mrs. Winlow had answered: "But she's some sort of cousin to Mrs. Pendyce. The Pendyces are related to everybody! It's so boring. One never knows " Lady Maiden replied: "Did you know her when she was living down here? I dislike those hard-riding women.
Geoffrey Winlow; having sent his wife on, had flown over in his biplane from Winkleigh, and brought a copy of 'the rag' with him. The one member of the small house-party who had not heard the report before dinner was Lord Dennis Fitz-Harold, Lady Casterley's brother. Little, of course, was said.
Word Of The Day