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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Are you tired, Froeken Thelma?" she asked. "You are so pale!" "I have a slight headache," Thelma answered. "It is nothing, it will soon pass. I wish you to post that letter at once, Britta." "Very well, Froeken." Britta still hesitated. "Will you be out all the evening?" was her next query. "Yes." "Then perhaps you will not mind if I go and see Louise, and take supper with her?
Britta promised, Britta's eyes were red one would almost have fancied she had been crying. But Thelma was not asleep she had felt her husband's kiss, her heart had beat as quickly as the wing of a caged wild bird at his warm touch, and now he had gone she turned and pressed her lips passionately on the pillow where his hand had leaned.
And she is not strong not strong enough to travel and there's the North Sea to cross oh, Mr. Neville," and she broke out sobbing afresh. "The journey will kill her, I know it will! my poor, poor darling! I must go after her I'll go with Sir Philip I won't be left behind!" "Hush, hush, Britta!" said Neville kindly, patting her shoulder. "Don't cry don't cry!"
"Clara's a fine actress," murmured Briggs, more to himself than to his companion. "She'd beat Violet Vere on 'er own ground." Raising his voice a little, he turned gallantly to Britta and relieved her of the basket she held. "Hallow me!" he said. "We'll walk to the 'ouse together. On the way I'll explain and you'll judge for yourself.
Britta, too, wept and would not be comforted she had been fond of Sigurd in her own impetuous little way, and it was some time before either she or her mistress, could calm themselves sufficiently to retire to rest. And long after Thelma was sleeping, with tears still wet on her cheeks, her father sat alone under his porch, lost in melancholy meditation.
Her little watch-dog, Britta, began to notice this, and to wonder concerning the reason of her mistress's altered looks. "It is this dreadful London," thought Britta. "So hot and stifling there's no fresh air for her. And all this going about to balls and parties and shows no wonder she is tired out!"
Then turning to Thelma, who stood an amazed spectator of the scene, her flushed cheeks and tear-swollen eyes testifying to the misery of the hours she had passed, he said, "Run, Mademoiselle, run! The little Britta is outside, she has a pony-car she will drive you home. I will stay here till Phil-eep comes. I shall enjoy myself! I will begin Phil-eep with finish! Then we will return to you."
"But by God! were she a man I'd shoot her dead!" And with these words, and his eyes blazing with wrath, he left the room. Neville and Britta confronted each other in vague alarm. "Where will he go?" half whispered Britta. "To Winsleigh House, I suppose," answered Neville in the same low tone. Just then the hall door shut with a loud bang, that echoed through the silent house.
Meanwhile, Sir Philip himself, in a white heat of restrained anger, arrived at Winsleigh House, and asked to see Lord Winsleigh immediately. Briggs, who opened the door to him, was a little startled at his haggard face and blazing eyes, even though he knew, through Britta, all about the sorrow that had befallen him.
If I do, I shall not tell you!" "Thelma, child?" called Olaf Gueldmar, at this juncture "keep the gates bolted and doors barred while we are absent. Remember, thou and Britta must pass the night alone here, we cannot be at home till late in the evening of to-morrow. Let no one inside the garden, and deny thyself to all comers. Dost thou hear?" "Yes, father," she responded meekly.
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