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Updated: June 17, 2025
She's fair and forty just about Buntingford's age quite good-looking quite clever lives by herself, reads a great deal runs the parish you know the kind of thing. They swarm! I think she would like to marry Cousin Philip, if he would let her." Mrs. Friend hurriedly shut the door at her back, which had been slightly ajar. Helena laughed the merry but very soft laugh Mrs.
By the specialist's advice, Buntingford's next step was to appeal to a woman, one of those remarkable women, who, unknown perhaps to more than local or professional fame, are every year bringing the results of an ardent moral and mental research to bear upon the practical tasks of parent and teacher. This woman, whom we will call Mrs.
A magnificent creature, certainly "very mad and very handsome!" he recalled Buntingford's letter. "Do tell me, Helena!" he urged. "What's the good? You'll only side with him and preach. You've done that several times already." The young man frowned a little. "I don't preach!" he said shortly. "I say what I think when you ask me.
But he's done nothing that I know of to make me cut him and I won't! He told me all about it quite frankly. I said I'd stick by him and I will." "And Sir Luke Preston is a friend of Lord Buntingford's?" "Yes " said Helena unwillingly "I suppose he is. I didn't know. Perhaps I wouldn't have asked Donald if I'd known. But I did ask him, and he accepted.
There had indeed been a dizzy succession of week-end parties, and it seemed to her that Lord Buntingford's patience under the infliction had been simply miraculous. For they rarely contained friends of his own; his lameness cut him off from dancing; and it had been clear to Lucy Friend that in many cases Helena's friends had been sharply distasteful to him. He was, in Mrs.
She looked particularly small and slight in a little dress of thin grey stuff that Helena had coaxed her to wear in lieu of her perennial black, but there was that expression in her pretty eyes as of a lifted burden, and a new friendship with life, which persons in Philip Buntingford's neighbourhood, when they belonged to the race of the meek and gentle, were apt to put on.
But the influenza poison, recklessly defied from the beginning, had laid too deadly a grip on an already weakened heart. And the excitement of the means she had taken to inform herself as to the conditions of Buntingford's life and surroundings, before breaking in upon them, together with the exhaustion of her night wandering, had finally destroyed her chance of recovery.
Lady Mary had reported that "companions" were almost as difficult to find as kitchenmaids, and that she had done her best for him in finding a person of gentle manners and quiet antecedents. "Such people will soon be as rare as snakes in Ireland" had been the concluding sentence in Lady Mary's letter, according to Lord Buntingford's laughing account of it. Ah, well, Lady Mary was old-fashioned.
Into Buntingford's strained consciousness there fell a drop of balm as he sat beside him, listening to the quiet breathing, and comforted by the mere peace of the slight form. He looked up at Cynthia and thanked her; and Cynthia's heart sang for joy. The Alcotts' unexpected guest lingered another forty-eight hours under their roof, making a hopeless fight for life.
In the few hours she had passed under Lord Buntingford's roof she seemed to herself to have been passing through a forcing house. Qualities she had never dreamed of possessing or claiming she must somehow show, or give up the game.
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