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Updated: May 22, 2025
He looked at the clock rather eagerly. "Will you dine here?" he asked, and Steinmetz wheeled around in his chair. "I am going out to dinner," he explained further. "Ah!" said the elder man. "I am going to Mrs. Sydney Bamborough's." Steinmetz bowed his head gravely. He said nothing. He was not looking at Paul, but at the pattern of the carpet. There was a short silence.
It is to be presumed that Mrs. Sydney Bamborough's memory was short. For it was a matter of common knowledge in the diplomatic circles in which she moved that Mr. Paul Howard Alexis of Piccadilly House, London, and Prince Pavlo Alexis of the province of Tver, were one and the same man.
Thirty beds are kept in the restored castle for shipwrecked sailors, and Bamborough is to the mariner on that perilous coast what the convent of St. Bernard is to the traveller in the Alps. Here, at this Border haven, we will close this descriptive tour by recalling Bamborough's most pleasant memory that of Grace Darling.
I am sure you will like her." Paul accepted with alacrity, but reserved to himself the option of hating Mrs. Sydney Bamborough's cousin Maggie, merely because that young lady existed and happened to be staying in Upper Brook Street. At five o'clock the next afternoon he presented himself at the house of mourning, and completely filled up its small entrance-hall.
Warrington's black gentleman, with my Lord Bamborough's valet, and several more ladies and gentlemen of that station, and the liquor Mrs. Brett was shocked to own it had proved too much for Mrs. Betty. Should Mrs. Brett undress my lady? My lady said she would undress without a maid, and gave Mrs. Brett leave to withdraw. "She has the letters in her stays," thought Madame Bernstein.
"Yes, 'good-by, Jerry, remember 'God bless Uncle John, and er tell my father that ah, what the deuce shall you tell him now? it should be something a little affecting wholly dutiful, and above all gently dignified hum! Ah, yes tell him that whether I win or lose the race, whether I break my unworthy neck or no, I shall never forget that I am the Earl of Bamborough's son.
"Because of Clemency, Dick?" "Well and why not?" "The Earl of Bamborough's son fight a duel over the chambermaid of a hedge tavern!" The Viscount's handsome face grew suddenly red, and as suddenly pale again, and his eyes glowed as he fronted Barnabas across the hearth. "Mr. Beverley," said he very quietly, "how am I to take that?"
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