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Updated: May 9, 2025
On the Battersea side of Clapham Common, in one of those immense old brick houses built in the time of Queen Victoria, with trees and lawns and lodges, lived a man whose name was known in every stock exchange and money market in the world Benjamin Bugbee, the banker.
So much for the international police." "Do they know?" said Mrs. Oswald Carey. "Does Sir John Dacre know?" "Sir John Dacre helped the King into his carriage when he landed. He knows that he is here, and expects to meet him at Aldershot to-morrow." While pretending to move and speak as if quite at ease, Mr. Bugbee was obviously nervous and unsettled. Mrs.
"It is almost midnight?" she asked. "It is after twelve ten minutes. The morning of the great day has come." And the old banker looked into the eyes of the young Beauty, and almost smiled in response to her low, derisive laugh. "He came to-day, then?" she asked. "Yesterday," corrected Mr. Bugbee; "at noon, he landed from my steam-yacht, in the very heart of London.
"That is his purpose and mine," said the Beauty. In less than half an hour Bugbee departed in a fly in hot haste to prepare the yacht for the royal guest; and some minutes later George the Fifth handed Mrs. Oswald Carey into the banker's closed carriage, and the pair were driven off to London. Mr.
Hunt, such a good offer, especially to one in your circumstances, from such a worthy, talented, pious young clergyman, whose preference Julia Bramhall or Cornelia Bugbee, with their thousands, would be glad to win, who is going to be settled in a good old parish, like Walbury, and receive at once a salary almost as large, I dare say, as Mr.
Bugbee here, Sire, in a few moments, and tell him without a word of explanation that you are going on board the yacht to-night." "But it is so strange " "Kings have a right to strange fancies," she said smiling, but speaking with a firm tone. "You will simply tell him, Sire, that you wish to go directly to the yacht now."
Her dress was cut low and square, and a soft gauze of exquisite texture covered her bosom. This had been concealed throughout the evening by a skilful arrangement of rich lace. There was a single red rose in her hair. "You are to present a petition," old Bugbee said, as if giving instructions. "Have you thought of it?" "Trust me," she said, smilingly. "I am ready."
That oriole's wing she wears in her bonnet makes her look gorgeous, she'll be a stunning Pocahontas for the next tableau." Miss Rose Bugbee, whose family opulence grew out of the only merchantable article a Hebrew is never known to seek profit from, thought she could be made presentable in the first circles if taken in hand in good season.
If you choose to risk yourself on 'possibilities, it is not my affair, and she's a beauty, there's no mistake about that. "There are some desirable partis at the school with your dulcinea. There 's Rose Bugbee. That last name is a good one to be married from. Rose is a nice girl, there are only two of them.
She knew his character well, and she had little doubt of her power if she could only get the reins. From that position she knew enough, too, to overcome all scruples of conscience in the King's conscientious banker. Bugbee was playing against two possible results the success of the King or his death. Either was ruin for him. Investigation would follow, whether George were a king or a corpse.
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