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Updated: June 20, 2025
I heard nothing more in words, but I saw him turn to her somewhat sharply, and I caught the deep notes of his voice as he answered her. When, a moment after, I looked back, she had gone below. Galt Roscoe had a seat at Captain Ascott's table, and I did not see anything of him at meal-times, but elsewhere I soon saw him a great deal. He appeared to seek my company.
The sound of voices came distantly from the wooded heights above far laughter, the faint aroma of a wood fire; no doubt some picnickers trespassing as usual, but that was Mrs. Ascott's affair. A little later, far below him, he caught a glimpse of a white gown among the trees. There was a spring down there somewhere in that thicket of silver birches; probably one of the trespassers was drinking.
They had not the slightest clew to Ascott's haunts or associates. With the last fingering of honest shame, or honest respect for his aunts, he had kept all these things to himself. To search for him in wide London was altogether impossible.
Ascott's life was as yet an unanswered query. She could but leave it in Omnipotent hands. So she found her way home, asking it once or twice of civil policemen, and going a little distance round dare I make this romantic confession about so sensible and practical a little woman? that she might walk once up Burton Street and down again. But nobody knew the fact, and it did nobody any harm.
Alida Ascott. Trouble had begun the previous autumn with a lively exchange of notes between them concerning the shooting of woodcock on Mrs. Ascott's side of the boundary. Then Portlaw stupidly built a dam and diverted the waters of Painted Creek.
So keenly were the three sisters alive to this fault it could hardly be called a crime, and yet in its consequences it was so so sickening the terror of it which their own wretched experience had implanted in their minds, that during Ascott's childhood and youth his very fractiousness and roughness, his little selfishness, and his persistence in his own will against theirs, had been hailed by his aunts as a good omen that he would grow up "so unlike his poor father."
"Thank you, thank you!" she said mechanically, as Elizabeth folded and fastened her shawl for her and descended immediately. Elizabeth watched her take, not Ascott's arm, but Mr. Lyon's, and walk down the terrace in the starlight. "Some'at's wrong. I'd like to know who's been a-vexin' of her," thought fiercely the young servant. No, nobody had been "a-vexing" her mistress.
Towards the end of dinner, the head waiter interrupted their conversation. He lingered about the table, anxious to hear something of Lord Ascott's two-year-olds; but, in the smoking-room over their coffee, they returned to the more vital question the sentimental affections. They were agreed that the pleasure of love is in loving, not in being loved, and their reasons were incontrovertible.
She was considering him, the knuckle of one forefinger resting against her chin in an almost childish attitude of thoughtful perplexity. "How long are you to remain there, Garry?" "Where?" coming out of abstraction. "There at Mrs. Ascott's?" "Oh, I don't know a month, I suppose." "Not longer?" "I can't tell, Shiela." Young Mrs.
"But I repaid you for it afterwards; you can't say I didn't. There were ten years in which I loved you. How is it you have never reproached me before?" "Why should I? But now I've come to the end of the street; there is a blank wall in front of me." "You make me very miserable by talking like this." They sat without speaking, and Lady Ascott's interruption was welcome.
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