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Updated: June 10, 2025
Brookenham just hesitated, and nothing, in general, was so becoming to her as the act of hesitation. "Dear Mitchy, do you know I want awfully to talk to you about Harold?" "About his French reading, Mrs. Brook?" Mitchy responded with interest. "The worse things are, let me just mention to you about that, the better they seem positively to be for one's feeling up in the language.
She turned the possibilities over, but they produced a reserve. "The thing is I don't see how he CAN like Harold." "Then he won't lend him money," said Brookenham with all his grimness. This contingency too she considered. "You make me feel as if I wished he would which is too dreadful. And I don't think he really likes ME!" she went on. "Oh!" her husband again ejaculated.
"Well, it's a relief to dine at home" and Brookenham faced about. "Would you mind finding out?" he asked with some abruptness. "Do you mean who's to dine?" "No, that doesn't matter. But whether Mitchy HAS come down." "I can only find out by asking him." "Oh I could ask him." He seemed disappointed at his wife's want of resource. "And you don't want to?"
Nothing had passed between the two ladies, yet it was as if there were a trace of something in the eyes of the elder, which, during a moment's silence, moved from the retreating visitor, now formally taken over at the door by Edward Brookenham, to Lady Fanny and her hostess, who, in spite of the embraces just performed, had again subsided together while Mrs.
Brookenham's drawing-room, in free exchange of their happy impression. Mr. Mitchett was none the less scantly diverted from his estimate of the occasion Mrs. Brookenham had just named to him. "My dear Duchess," he promptly asked, "do you mind explaining to me an opinion I've just heard of your with marked originality holding?"
Edward Brookenham glanced at his daughter. "Yes, but I wish there were more." "DO you?" And Vanderbank's laugh at this odd view covered, for a little, the rest of the talk. But when he again began to follow no victory had yet been snatched. It was Mrs. Brook naturally who rattled the standard.
"Oh!" Brookenham returned as if with a still deeper drop of interest. "They oughtn't to do it," she declared; "they ought to tell us, and when they don't it serves them right." Even this observation, however, failed to rouse in her husband a response, and, as she had quite formed the habit of doing, she philosophically answered herself. "But I don't suppose they do it on spec."
Longdon, and Nanda, still flanked by Mr. Cashmore, between that gentleman and his wife, who had Harold on her other side. Edward Brookenham was neighboured by his son and by Vanderbank, who might easily have felt himself, in spite of their separation and given, as it happened, their places in the group, rather publicly confronted with Mr. Longdon. "Is his wife in the other room?" Mrs.
Brook desires to 'spare' you," Vanderbank kindly replied, "the best way to make sure of it would perhaps indeed be to remove you. But hadn't we a hope of Nanda?" "It might be of use for us to wait for her?" it was still to his young friend that Mr. Longdon put it. "Ah when she's once on the loose !" Mrs. Brookenham sighed. "Unless la voila," she said as a hand was heard at the door-latch.
Jane's hostess now spoke as simply as an earnest anxious child. She gave a vague patient sigh. "I suppose I must begin!" The Duchess remained for a little rather grimly silent. "How old is she twenty?" "Thirty!" said Mrs. Brookenham with distilled sweetness. Then with no transition of tone: "She has gone for a few days to Tishy Grendon." "In the country?"
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