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Updated: May 25, 2025
And his refusal either to dine at the castle or to join the sportsmen during the day was so prompt and so emphatic that Babbacombe had refrained from pressing his invitation. Not a word had passed between them upon the subject of Cynthia's recognition. West adhered strictly to business during his brief interviews with his chief.
When Babbacombe entered Cynthia's presence a few minutes later, he walked as a man dazed. He found her lying among pillows, with the sunlight streaming over her, transforming her brown hair into a mass of sparkling gold. The old quick, gracious smile welcomed him as he bent over her. There were deep shadows about her eyes, but they were wonderfully bright.
They were the bluest eyes that Babbacombe had ever seen. He accepted the curt acknowledgment with grave courtesy, and made a motion toward the car. "Will you get in? My name is Babbacombe. I am here to meet you, as no doubt you have been told. You had better wear this" opening out the coat he carried. But West remained motionless, facing him on the grey, deserted road.
It soon came home to Babbacombe that the management of his estate was in capable hands, and he congratulated himself upon having struck ore where he had least expected to find it. He supervised the whole of West's work for a time, but he soon suffered this vigilance to relax, for the man's shrewdness far surpassed his own.
The doctor was out, to her evident relief. Babbacombe wanted to go in search of another, but she would not be persuaded. "I'm sure it will be all right to-morrow. If not, I shall be in town, and I can go to a doctor there. Please don't make a fuss about it. It's too absurd." Reluctantly he abandoned the argument, and they followed the hounds in the motor instead.
You don't believe me, I see. So here's something for you to read that will set your mind at rest." Babbacombe read, with a slowly clearing face. The note he held was in his agent's handwriting. "I am leaving you to-day, for I feel, now you are well again, that you will find it easier in my absence to consider very carefully your position. Your marriage to me was simply an act of impulse.
It is a charm that has its very material drawbacks." Babbacombe wholly lost patience at that. The man's grim irony was not to be borne. "Take it or leave it!" he exclaimed. "But if you leave it, in heaven's name let it be for some sounder reason than a faked-up excuse of moral weakness!" West uttered an abrupt laugh. "You seem to have a somewhat exalted opinion of my morals," he observed.
"But I think it is a pity that you have renewed your acquaintance with me, and the sooner you drop me again the better." He spoke briefly and very decidedly, and having thus expressed himself he turned to Babbacombe. "I am going to the library. Perhaps you will join me there at your convenience." With an abrupt bow to Cynthia, he turned to go. But instantly the high voice arrested him. "Mr. West!"
Only, if you must ask the man to dine, for goodness' sake another time have some one else for me to talk to. I frankly admit that I have no talent for entertaining people of that class. Now tell me the latest about Cynthia Mortimer. Of course, she is one of the chosen guests?" "She has promised to spend a week here," Babbacombe answered somewhat reluctantly. "I haven't seen her lately.
"But my mind isn't sure. Do you know, Jack, I almost proposed to him because I felt so sure he cared. And he he just looked beyond me, as if as if he didn't even hear." "He thinks he isn't good enough for you," Babbacombe said, with an effort. "I don't think he will ever be persuaded to act otherwise. He seems to consider himself hopelessly handicapped."
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