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Updated: June 26, 2025
When Barold saw her next, he was struck by a slight but distinctly definable change he recognized in her dress and coiffure.
Barold stood gnawing his mustache, and made no reply. He was not very comfortable. He felt himself ill-used by Fate, and rather wished he had returned to London from Broadoaks, instead of loitering in Slowbridge. He had amused himself at first, but in time he had been surprised to find his amusement lose something of its zest.
When he had left her, she startled Miss Belinda by saying, "I have been asking Mr. Barold if he thought I was fast; and I believe he does in fact, I am sure he does." "Ah, my dear, my dear!" ejaculated Miss Belinda, "what a terrible thing to say to a gentleman! What will he think?" Octavia smiled one of her calmest smiles. "Isn't it queer how often you say that!" she remarked.
"We are just going in to take tea, in which I hope you will join us. Lucia" Mr. Francis Barold naturally turned, as her ladyship uttered her granddaughter's name in a tone of command.
Burmistone's class securing the services of persons of established position in society when they wished to spend their money upon entertainments; but I should scarcely have imagined that Francis Barold would have allowed himself to be made a party to such a transaction." "But," put in Mrs. Burnham rather eagerly, "it appears that Mr. Burmistone is not such an obscure person, after all.
Francis Barold would permit his pleasure to be interfered with, even by the son of the Marquis of Lauderdale." But she glared at Barold as he passed, and beckoned to him. "Where is Lucia?" she demanded. "I saw her with Burmistone half an hour ago," he answered coldly. "Have you any message for my mother? I shall return to London to-morrow, leaving here early." She turned quite pale.
"I think I should perish if I had to pull myself up that way as you do. I just go right on, and never worry. I don't mean to do any thing queer, and I don't see why any one should think I do." Lucia was permitted to form one of the players in the game of croquet, being escorted to and from the scene by Francis Barold.
Lucia was very glad when, in answer to a timidly appealing glance, Lady Theobald said, "It is half-past ten. You may wish us good-night, Lucia." Lucia obeyed, as if she had been half-past ten herself, instead of nearly twenty; and Barold was not long in following her example. Dobson led him to a stately chamber at the top of the staircase, and left him there.
With regard to Lucia." Mrs. Egerton looked utterly helpless. "Dear me!" she ejaculated plaintively. "I have never had time to think of it. Dear me! With regard to Lucia!" Mrs. Burnham became more significant still. "And" she added, "Mr. Francis Barold." Mrs. Egerton turned to Miss Pilcher, and saw confirmation of the fact in her countenance. "Dear, dear!" she said. "That makes it worse than ever."
Francis Barold does not wish to show emotion; and he is so determined to hedge himself around, that one can't help suspecting that he is always guarding himself against one. He seems always to be resenting any interference; but you do not appear to care at all, and so it is not natural that one should suspect you. I did not suspect you." "What do you suspect me of now?"
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