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Updated: June 7, 2025
The latch clicked, the door opened, and in walked my Lord Brocton. I was as new to a life of action as an hour-old duckling is to water, and this ironical upset of all my plans left me helpless. The very last man whom I wanted to see Mistress Waynflete was here, his plumed hat sweeping to the floor, triumph on his handsome face and in his easy, languid tones.
"How on earth did she ever make Wellington?" demanded the aristocratic Nettie Brocton, disapproval spoiling her leaky dimples. "Girls, you are horrid!" declared Judith to the rescue. "You all know the freaks love Jane. It's her angel face," and Judith playfully stroked the cheek into which streaks of bright pink threatened admission of guilt that Jane really knew the uncouth country girl.
My only explanation, I do not offer it as an excuse, is that the utter beast in Brocton makes it hard for me to think well of any man. Oh, believe me, I am ashamed, confounded, and miserable. Say you forgive me!" "Madam," I said laughingly, "the next time I play the knight-errant, may God send me a less observant damsel. There's nothing to forgive.
This confirmed my suspicion that Master Jack Dobson was learning in his way more than I had learned in mine. "Farming," said I. "Tell me why Brocton is a beast." "He thinks every pretty woman a butterfly for his filthy fingers to crush the beauty out of. But if he rolls his beast's tongue round one name, either he or I will want that ferryman chap. What's his name?"
"I fell into the claws of poetic justice," I answered, "and, having failed as a real highwayman, nearly hanged as an imaginary one." He laughed. "Well, keep out of the sergeant's claws. He's only five miles off with a brace of his dragoons, but little Dot is watching him. The time to deal with him is not yet. Wait till his lordship of Brocton joins him. What do you think of the Prince?"
It was a lucky hit, for when I had in solemn whispers rolled off the great lines in the sixth Aeneid which foretell the work and glory of Rome, I thought of my Lord Ridgeley, thiever by cunning process of law of most of my ancient patrimony, and his blackguard son, my Lord Brocton, lustfully hunting the proud, gracious woman beneath, and I said grandiosely to myself, "Rome's destiny is thine too, Oliver Wheatman of the Hanyards, and these betitled scullions are the proud ones you shall war down."
We were in a big, bare kitchen, the other door of which was closed. There was no sign of anyone about, and Brocton, still with his sword ready for me, bawled out, "Where are you, you old hag?" The door opened at once. Brocton dropped his sword in his fright and I clapped my foot on it. The two men fled like rabbits.
I had a shrewd notion that the letter concerned the title to certain lands as to which Lord Brocton and I are at odds, and on opening it I found to my satisfaction that I was right. With your permission, Oliver, I will keep it." "By all means do so," said I, anxious to burn again, and turning back to Margaret.
"Glad to," Judith accepted the commission. "But don't you like my Ray?" "Couldn't help it," said Jane affably. "Of the two boys I like Ray's hair best. It's so smoky." "And Jane! Have you seen who Dozia is lugging around? That awfully big boy, the football giant of Yorktown." "Makes Doze look small by comparison, and that's an achievement," said Jane. "There's my dance with Nettie Brocton.
I excused myself to Lady Blount and set forth on my errand, willingly enough, since she desired it and I liked him, but all the way I thought of her anxious face as she asked me. At White's I found Tiverton playing piquet with Brocton. A heap of guineas was by his side, and he was flushed and excited with success.
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