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Updated: June 10, 2025
Besides," she went on, "if his line is to love the mothers why on earth doesn't he love ME? I'm in all conscience enough of one." "Ah but isn't there in your case the fact of a daughter?" Vanderbank asked with a slight embarrassment. Mrs. Brookenham stared. "What good does that do me?" "Why, didn't she tell you?" "Nanda? She told me he doesn't like her any better than he likes me."
Their common consciousness that she was a kind of cousin, a consciousness not devoid of satisfaction, was quite consistent with a view, early arrived at, of the absurdity of any fuss about her. When Mr. Brookenham appeared his wife was prompt. "She's coming back for Lord Petherton." "Oh!" he simply said. "There's something between them." "Oh!" he merely repeated.
"Oh!" Mitchy himself felt, as soon as this comment had quitted his lips, that it might sound even to a stranger like a sign, such as the votaries of Mrs. Edward Brookenham had fallen into the way of constantly throwing off, that he recognised her hand in the matter.
Vanderbank spoke with a certain discernible impatience not so much of the fact he mentioned as of the turn of their talk. It might have been in almost compassionate deprecation of this weak note that Mrs. Brookenham looked at him. Her own reply to Mr. Cashmere's question, however, was uttered at Mr. Longdon.
"But it's all right." Mr. Longdon gave a headshake that was both sad and sharp. "It's all wrong. But YOU'RE all right!" he added in a different tone as he walked hastily away. Nanda Brookenham, for a fortnight after Mr. Longdon's return, had found much to think of; but the bustle of business became, visibly for us, particularly great with her on a certain Friday afternoon in June.
But there are moments," Mr. Mitchett ruefully added, "when it would relieve him awfully to feel free for a good spin." "I think you exaggerate," his hostess replied, "the difficulties in your way. What do you mean by all the 'reasons'?" "Why one of them I've already mentioned. I make her flesh creep." "My own Mitchy!" Mrs. Brookenham protestingly moaned.
"I said to you just now that I knew the mothers, but it would have been more to the point to say the grandmothers." He stopped before his young friend, then nodded at the image of Nanda. "I knew HERS. She put it at something less." Vanderbank rather failed to understand. "The old lady? Put what?" Mr. Longdon's face showed him as for a moment feeling his way. "I'm speaking of Mrs. Brookenham.
Cashmore, ushered in and announced, had found in the act of helping himself to a cup of tea at the table apparently just prepared Harold Brookenham arrived at the point with a dash so direct as to leave the visitor an option between but two suppositions: that of a desperate plunge, to have his shame soon over, or that of the acquired habit of such appeals, which had taught him the easiest way.
Vanderbank felt ever so much more guilty than he would have expected. "You think it too much in the manner we just mentioned?" His friend hesitated; then with a smile a trifle strange: "Pardon me; I didn't mention " "No, you didn't; and your scruple was magnificent. In point of fact," Vanderbank pursued, "I DON'T call Mrs. Brookenham by her Christian name." Mr. Longdon's clear eyes were searching.
"Upon my word, Duchess, under the nose of those " The Duchess, on the first blush, lent herself to the humour of the case. "Well, Petherton, of 'those'? I defy him to finish his sentence!" she smiled to the others. Especially," he continued to jest, "with a man of Mitchy's vile reputation." "Oh!" Edward Brookenham exclaimed at this, but only as with quiet relief.
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