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Updated: June 9, 2025
The horror came, not from the fact, but from her daughter's knowledge of it. "Poor Mummy, didn't you know? That's why Bartie hates her." "It isn't true." "What's the good of that as long as Bartie thinks it is?" said Dorothy. Veronica was in the drawing-room, singing "London Bridge." Michael, in all the beauty of his adolescence, lay stretched out on the sofa, watching her.
He had something the matter with him, and he had come home to look after his own health. At least, Bartholomew's health was what he was supposed to be looking after; but Dorothy had heard her father say that Bartie had come home to look after Vera. Vera was Bartie's wife and Veronica's mother. Before she became Mrs. Bartholomew Harrison she had been Frances's schoolfellow and her dearest friend.
His wonder was a savage joy to Bartie. Mr. Jervis, a heavy, pessimistic man, wondered how they managed it, and Mr. Jervis's wonder had its own voluptuous quality. Mr. Vereker and Mr. Norris, who held that a strike was a downright serious matter, also wondered. But they were sustained by their immense belief in Mr. Anthony. Mr. Anthony knew what he was doing; he always had known.
Nothing could have prevented it; their names had been down for Cheltenham long ago; first his, then Nicky's. Cheltenham, because Bartie and Vera lived there, and because it had a college for girls, and Dorothy, who wanted to go to Roedean, had been sent to Cheltenham, because of Bartie and Vera and for no other reason. First Dorothy; then, he, Michael; then, the next term, Nicky.
We'll both be in I A the Midsummer after, and we can go in for our matic, together. I wish you'd arrange with Mrs. Jervis for both of us to be at Newnham at the same time. Tell her Rosalind's an awful slacker if I'm not there to keep her up to the mark. No don't tell her that. Tell her I'm a slacker if she isn't there. I was amused by your saying it was decent of Bartie to have us so often.
Bartie knew that a divorce was what they wanted, what they had been playing for, and he was not going to make things easy for them; he was going to make things hard and bitter and shameful He had based his ultimatum on the calculation that Vera would not have the courage of her emotions; that even her passion would surrender when she found that it had no longer the protection of her husband's house and name.
Her eyes had opened all their length to take in Dorothy. "No. I think it is that Uncle Bartie looks " Frances rushed in. "It doesn't matter, my dear, what you think." "It will some day," said Dorothy. It was perhaps the best thing she could have said, as showing that she was more interested in the effect she would produce some day than in the sensation she had created there and then.
You'd never have known each other if it hadn't been for me. She couldn't have married you. It was I who saw you both through." He assented. "And you said if there was ever anything you could do for me You haven't by any chance forgotten?" "I have not." "Well, if anything should happen to me " "But, my dear girl, what should happen to you?" "Things do happen, Anthony." "Yes, but how about Bartie?"
Every now and then he looked at his watch. He had still a quarter of an hour before he need start. But he was not going back into the house. They were all in there saying good-bye to John: old Mrs. Fleming, and Louie and Emmeline and Edith. And Maurice. And his brother Bartie.
They watched; Bartie openly with sudden dartings and swoopings of his hawk's eyes; Vera furtively. Her eyes were so large and long that, without turning her head, or any visible movement, they could hold his image. But for Captain Cameron Vera's eyes had a full, open gaze.
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