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Updated: May 10, 2025
Willoughby glanced at Mrs. Mountstuart. "What is that?" she said. "Treason to our sex, Dr. Middleton?" "I think I heard that no woman can say No forever!" remarked Lady Busshe. "To a loyal gentleman, ma'am: assuming the field of the recurring request to be not unholy ground; consecrated to affirmatives rather." Dr Middleton was attacked by three angry bees.
They were regarded in the county as the most indulgent of nonentities, and she as little as Lady Busshe was restrained from the burning topic in their presence. She pronounced: "Each party is right, and each is wrong." A dry: "I shall shriek!" came from Lady Busshe. "Cruel!" groaned Lady Culmer. "Mixed, you are all wrong. Disentangled, you are each of you right.
"He comes to me to-morrow, I believe," she said, reflecting on her superior knowledge of facts in comparison with Lady Busshe, who would presently be hearing of something novel, and exclaiming: "So, that is why you patronized the colonel!" And it was nothing of the sort, for Mrs. Mountstuart could honestly say she was not the woman to make a business of her pleasure.
"She varies," observed Sir Willoughby. The ladies took seat in their carriage and fell at once into a close-bonnet colloquy. Not a single allusion had they made to the wedding-presents after leaving the luncheon-table. The cause of their visit was obvious. That woman, Lady Busshe, had predicted, after the event, Constantia Durham's defection.
She had rebuked herself for want of reserve in the presence of Lady Busshe and Lady Culmer, and she was guilty of a slightly excessive containment when she next addressed Laetitia. It was, like Laetitia's look at Dr.
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