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Updated: June 6, 2025
"But," he said, "there was no one in Loango connected with the scheme who" he paused, touching her sleeve with a bony finger "who sent the telegram home to young Oscard the telegram calling him out to Jack's relief?" "Oh," she explained lightly, "I did. My brother was away, so there was no one else to do it, you see!" "Yes I see." And perhaps he did. Lady Cantourne helped them skilfully.
She came closer to him, looking up from her compact little five-feet-two with discerning eyes. "John!" she exclaimed. She came still nearer and laid her gloved hands upon his sleeve. "John! you know something about this." "I should like to know more," he said suavely. "I am afraid Millicent will be inconvenienced." Lady Cantourne looked keenly at him for a moment.
Meredith, bring up breakfast, if you please." On the doorstep Jack Meredith looked at his watch. He had an appointment with Millicent Chyne at half-past eleven an hour when Lady Cantourne might reasonably be expected to be absent at the weekly meeting of a society which, under the guise and nomenclature of friendship, busied itself in making servant girls discontented with their situations.
"A most unique performance," he continued, turning gravely to Lady Cantourne, by whose side he had been standing; and, strange to say, her ladyship made a reproving little movement of the lips, and tapped his elbow surreptitiously, as if he were misbehaving himself. He offered his arm with a murmur of refreshments, and she accepted.
The wheels he heard had stopped perhaps it was Lady Cantourne. But he did not think so. She drove behind a pair, and this was not a pair. It was wonderful how well he could detect the difference, considering the age of his ears. A few minutes later the butler silently threw open the door, and Jack stood in the threshold. Sir John Meredith's son had been given back to him from the gates of death.
"Right one o'clock?" "One o'clock." When Durnovo had gone Guy sat down and wrote to Lady Cantourne accepting her invitation to spend a few days at Cantourne Place, on the Solent. He explained that his visit would be in the nature of a farewell, as he was about to leave for Africa for a little big-game hunting. Quand on n'a pas ce que l'on aime, il faut aimer ce que l'on a.
"The great secret of success in the world is to be different from other people and conceal the fact." He stood his full height, and looked round with blinking, cynical eyes. "They are all very like each other, and they fail to conceal that." "I dislike a person," said Lady Cantourne in her tolerant way, "who looks out of place anywhere. That girl would never look so."
"He has been apportioned a dance. Your fair niece has bagged him." If he had only known it, Guy Oscard won the privilege of a waltz by the same brown face which Lady Cantourne had so promptly noted. Coupled with a sturdy uprightness of carriage, this raised him at a bound above the pallid habitues of ballroom and pavement.
Lady Cantourne looked up suddenly. "What was a mistake?" "Not asking his opinion first." She turned to the table where his letter lay, and fingered the paper pensively. "I thought, perhaps, that you had found that the other was a mistake the engagement." "No," he answered. Lady Cantourne's face betrayed nothing. There was no sigh, of relief or disappointment. She merely looked at the clock.
There was a little pause, while two politely smiling pairs of eyes probed each other. "She knows something how much?" was behind one pair of eyes. "She cannot find out I am not afraid of her," behind the other. And Lady Cantourne, the proverbial looker-on, slowly rubbed her white hands one over the other.
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