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Updated: June 19, 2025
However we'll change the subject. What about that handsome young woman, Helena?" "Now, if you'd chanced to say it was a mercy she didn't happen to be Lady Buntingford, there'd have been some sense in it!" Cynthia's tone betrayed the soreness within. Lady Georgina laughed, or rather chuckled. "I know Philip a great deal better than you do, my dear, though he is your friend.
"I don't care a hang about the Middle Classes!" said Lord Buntingford, resting his head on his hand, and slowly drawing a pen over a printed sheet that lay before him. The sheet was headed "Middle Class Defence League," and was an appeal to whom it might concern to join the founders of the League in an attempt to curb the growing rapacity of the working-classes.
For his vigorous strokes were bringing them rapidly to the bank. "Oh, what's the good of talking!" said the boy impatiently. "I shall be friends, of course take what you fling me. I can't do anything else." Helena blew him a kiss, to which he made no response. "All right! I'll bring you in!" said Lord Buntingford from the shore.
"So there is an end forever to the hope that a child of the Buntingford Brewery should sit upon the throne of the Prospers." It was thus that Joe expressed himself. "Why shouldn't he have sat there?" said Polly. "A Thoroughbung is as good as a Prosper any day." But this was not said in the presence of Mrs. Annesley, who on that subject entertained views very different from her daughter.
"The vulgarest men in all Buntingford!" he declared to himself, and always ready for any sharp practice. Whereas he was no man, Miss Thoroughbung said, a mean creature, altogether unworthy to be regarded as a gentleman. He knew himself to be Mr.
She always suspected, from the time she first heard of it, that the notice in the Times " Helena made a quick movement forward. Her lips parted. " was not true?" Buntingford took her hand again, and they looked at each other, she trembling involuntarily. "And the woman last night?" she said, breathlessly "was she someone who knew who could tell you the truth?" "She was my wife herself!"
"Geoffrey begins." "Well, it'll thrill you," said Geoffrey slowly, "because there was a spy among us last night 'takin' notes." And with the heightening touches that every good story-teller bestows upon a story, he described the vision of the lake the strange woman's face, as he had seen it in the twilight beside the yew trees. Buntingford gradually dropped his cigarette to listen.
His sentence stopped abruptly. Mrs. Friend thought "he was in love with her." However, she got no further light on the matter. Lord Buntingford rose, and lit another cigarette. "I must go and write a letter before post. Well, you see, you and I have got to do our best.
There was no help to be had in that quarter, and he could only write to Mr. Grey, and ask that gentleman to assist him in his difficulties. He did write to Mr. Grey, begging for his immediate attention. "There is that fool Prosper going to marry a brewer's daughter down at Buntingford," said Mr. Grey to his daughter. "He's sixty years old." "No, my love. He looks it, but he's only fifty.
"I think in your letter you said I was to help her in modern languages " murmured Mrs. Friend. Lord Buntingford shrugged his shoulders "I have no doubt you could help her in a great many things. Young people, who know her better than I do, say she's very clever. But her mother and she were always wandering about before the war for her mother's health.
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