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Updated: June 10, 2025
Mountstuart groaned over her dull dinner-party. Lady Busshe consoled her. "At any rate, the loss of a scholar is no loss to the county." "They are well enough in towns," Lady Culmer said. "And then I am sure you must have them by themselves." "We have nothing to regret." "My opinion." The voice of Dr. Middleton in colloquy with Mr.
Lady Busshe and Mrs. Mountstuart Jenkinson enjoyed a perusal of them. Sir Willoughby appeared as a splendid young representative island lord in these letters to his family, despatched from the principal cities of the United States of America. He would give them a sketch of "our democratic cousins", he said. Such cousins! They might all have been in the Marines.
A little French dressing would make her at home on the sward by the fountain among the lutes and whispers of the bewitching silken shepherdesses who live though they never were. Lady Busshe was reminded of the favourite lineaments of the women of Leonardo, the angels of Luini. Lady Culmer had seen crayon sketches of demoiselles of the French aristocracy resembling her.
The exceedingly lively conversation at his table was lauded by Lady Culmer. "Though," said she, "what it all meant, and what was the drift of it, I couldn't tell to save my life. Is it every day the same with you here?" "Very much." "How you must enjoy a spell of dulness!" "If you said simplicity and not talking for effect! I generally cast anchor by Laetitia Dale." "Ah!" Lady Busshe coughed.
"I am to do as I please with the knowledge I have gained?" "I am utterly in your hands, madam." "I have not meant to be unkind." "You have not been unkind; I could embrace you." "I am rather too shattered, and kissing won't put me together. I laughed at Lady Busshe!
"Has locked herself in," said Lady Busshe. Willoughby threw her a smile. It made them intimate. This was an advantage against the world, but an exposure of himself to the abominable woman. Dr. Middleton came up to Mr. Dale to apologize for not presenting his daughter Clara, whom he could find neither in nor out of the house. "We have in Mr.
"And have you many more clever stories, Colonel De Craye?" said Lady Busshe. "Ah! my lady, when the tree begins to count its gold 'tis nigh upon bankruptcy." "Poetic!" ejaculated Lady Culmer, spying at Miss Middleton's rippled countenance, and noting that she and Sir Willoughby had not interchanged word or look.
"But, I say, if he insists, you consent?" "He will insist upon his own misery as well as mine." Mrs. Mountstuart rocked herself "My poor Sir Willoughby! What a fate! And I took you for a clever girl! Why, I have been admiring your management of him! And here am I bound to take a lesson from Lady Busshe.
Adulation of the young Sir Willoughby's beauty and wit, and aristocratic bearing and mien, and of his moral virtues, was common; welcome if you like, as a form of homage; but common, almost vulgar, beside Mrs. Mountstuart's quiet little touch of nature. In seeming to say infinitely less than others, as Miss Isabel Patterne pointed out to Lady Busshe, Mrs.
Willoughby gave him a look that was coldly courteous, and then he looked at Lady Busshe. She nodded imperceptibly. Her eyebrows rose, and Willoughby returned a similar nod. Translated, the signs ran thus: " Pestered by the Rev. gentleman: I see you are. Is the story I have heard correct? Possibly it may err in a few details." This was fettering himself in loose manacles.
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