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Updated: May 13, 2025
"'The compensation for Injustice, says the 'Pilgrim's Scrip, is, that in that dark Ordeal we gather the worthiest around us." And the baronet's fair friend, Lady Blandish, and some few true men and women, held Austin Wentworth high.
Lady Blandish was recumbent upon the brown pine-droppings, gazing through a vista of the lower greenwood which opened out upon the moon-lighted valley, her hands clasped round one knee, her features almost stern in their set hard expression. They had heard, by involuntarily overhearing about as much as may be heard in such positions, a luminous word or two. The lady did not answer.
Added to this, Sir Austin told Lady Blandish that Richard had, at his best, done what no poet had ever been known to be capable of doing: he had, with his own hands, and in cold blood, committed his virgin manuscript to the flames: which made Lady Blandish sigh forth, "Poor boy!" Killing one's darling child is a painful imposition.
Let them kill me! they shall never get one cry out of me!" and flashing on the young man as if he were the congregated enemy, add: "There! now you know me!" that was a mood that well became her, and helped the work. She ought to have been an actress. "This must not go on," said Lady Blandish and Mrs. Doria in unison. A common object brought them together.
This is not the first time you have been attendant on Apollo and Miss Dryope? You have written to headquarters?" "I did my duty, Mr. Hadrian." The wise youth returned to Lady Blandish, and informed her of Benson's zeal. The lady's eyes flashed. "I hope Richard will treat him as he deserves," she said. "Shall we home?" Adrian inquired. "Do me a favour;" the lady replied.
"And never will have," said Lady Blandish, curtly. "You buy your loves." Adrian protested. However, he did not plead verbally against the impeachment, though the lady's decisive insight astonished him. He began to respect her, relishing her exquisite contempt, and he reflected that widows could be terrible creatures.
You can say how gentle and good she is my fleur-de-luce! And say, this was not her doing. If any one's to blame, it's I. I made her marry me. Then go to Lady Blandish, if you don't find her at the house. You may say whatever you please to her. Give her my letter, and tell her I want to hear from her immediately. She has seen Lucy, and I know what she thinks of her.
Had Sir Austin given vent to the pain and wrath it was natural he should feel, he might have gone to unphilosophic excesses, and, however much he lowered his reputation as a sage, Lady Blandish would have excused him: she would not have loved him less for seeing him closer. But the poor gentleman tasked his soul and stretched his muscles to act up to her conception of him.
Ripton sat accusing his soul of cowardice while they talked; haunted by Lucy's last look at him. He got up his courage presently and went round to Adrian, who, after a few whispered words, deliberately rose and accompanied him out of the room, shrugging. When they had gone, Lady Blandish said to the baronet: "He is not coming." "To-morrow, then, if not tonight," he replied.
"Oh, I'm sure I beg pardon," Benson mumbled, arresting his head in a melancholy pendulosity. He was ordered out of the room. "And I think I shall follow him, and try to get forty winks," said Lady Blandish. They parted with a quiet squeeze of hands. The baronet then called in Benson.
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