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Updated: June 13, 2025
After a few words about a canvas which stood on the easel another woman the artist was boldly transforming into loveliness Will remarked carelessly that he had spent the day at Ashtead. "By Jove, I ought to go and see those people," said Franks. "Better wait a little, perhaps," returned the other with a smile. "Miss Elvan is with them." "Ah!
One Sunday afternoon, Warburton, tempted as usual by the thought of tea and talk in that delightful little garden, went out to Ashtead, and, as he pushed open the gate, was confused and vexed at the sight of strangers; there, before the house, stood a middle-aged gentleman and a young girl, chatting with Mrs. Pomfret.
I know no man whose tastes and opinions and interests are more completely in accord with my own than those of Mr. Walter Cassels. It is one of my greatest pleasures to meet him every summer at the beautiful place of our mutual and sympathetic friend, Mrs. Robertson, on the skirts of the Ashtead forest, in Surrey.
Feeling already better for his exercise, he stood awhile reflecting, and decided at length to go by rail into the country. He might perhaps call on the Pomfrets at Ashtead; that would depend upon his mood. At all events he would journey in that direction. It was some three months since he had seen the Pomfrets.
Warburton to come and walk about Chelsea with me," she added. "Mr. Warburton?" "He's a great authority on London antiquities. Bertha, if you happen to see Norbert these days, do ask him for Mr. Warburton's address." "Why not ask your people at Ashtead?" said Bertha. "I shan't be going there for two or three weeks. Promise to ask Norbert will you? For me, of course."
"I'm not quite up to the mark, and perhaps I should do well to take a holiday. Thank you for speaking about it." He walked home, and there, on his table, he found a letter from Franks, which he eagerly tore open. "I have as good as decided," wrote the artist. "Yesterday, I went to Ashtead, and saw R. We met like old friends just as I wished.
His health was good; his spirits could only be disturbed by ill news from those he loved. He promised that at all events he would spend Christmas with them. September went by. One of the Sundays was made memorable by a visit to Ashtead. Will had requested Franks to relate in that quarter the story of Mr.
When he came to Ashtead the second time, of course I understood his motive at once. He wished to show me that his behaviour at the first meeting wasn't mere bravado and to assure me that I needn't be afraid of him. There's a great deal of delicacy in that; it really pleased me." Bertha Cross was gazing at her friend with a puzzled smile. "You're a queer girl," she remarked. "Queer? Why?"
Franks was watching her as she spoke. "Miss Cross" he said, "I suspect you are satirical. I remember you used to have a turn that way. Well, well, never mind; I don't expect you to understand me." They had passed out of Ashtead Park and were now ascending by the lane which leads up to Epsom Common. "I suppose we are both going the same way," said Franks, who had recovered all his cheerfulness.
True, no sense of danger occurred to him, and for that very reason his state was the more precarious. "You have seen him lately at Ashtead?" was his next remark. "More than once. And I can't tell you how glad we were to see each other! I knew in a moment that he had really forgiven me and I have always wanted to be assured of that. How thoroughly good and straightforward he is!
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