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Updated: June 17, 2025
Presently Lady Bellamy raised her eyes, just now filled up with the great pupils, and fixed them on Mildred. "You are thinking," she said, slowly, "that Angela Caresfoot is a formidable rival." Mildred started. "How can you pretend to read my thoughts?" She laughed a little. "I am an adept at the art. Don't be down-hearted. I should not be surprised if, after all, the engagement between Mr.
His eyes had lost the frank boldness that had made them very pleasing to some people, they looked scared; the mouth too was rendered conspicuous by the absence of the firm lines that once gave it character; indeed the man's whole appearance was pitiful and almost abject. "I am afraid," he said at length, in a tone of gentle compassion, "that you must have suffered a great deal, Caresfoot."
Time, too, had made the face more intensely unpleasant and vulgar-looking than ever. Such Caresfoot characteristics as it possessed were, year by year, giving place, in an increasingly greater degree, to the kitchen-maid strain introduced by the mother. In short, George Caresfoot did not even look a gentleman, whereas Philip certainly did. "You don't seem very well, George.
"On that spot where it now stands there had been a great hole, ten feet deep by fourteen feet square, dug to receive it, and into that hole Caresfoot Staff was tilted and levered off the dray.
"I have not lost my temper, madam; I am perfectly cool," he replied, positively gasping with fury. Here his eye fell upon the necklace. "What necklace is that? who gave you that necklace? I demand to know." "You demand to know! Be careful what you say, please. Mr. George Caresfoot gave me the necklace. It cost a thousand pounds. Are you satisfied?"
But if you can imagine a woman whose mind is enriched with learning as profound as that of the first classical scholars of the day, and tinged with an originality all her own; a woman whose faith is as steady as that star, and whose love is deep as the sea and as definite as its tides; who lives to higher ends than those we strive for; whose whole life, indeed, gives one the idea that it is the shadow imperfect, perhaps, but still the shadow of an immortal light: then you will get some idea of Angela Caresfoot.
To his son, as to most people who came under his influence, "Devil" Caresfoot was a grave reality. Presently the picture in the doorway opened its mouth and spoke in a singularly measured, gentle voice. "You will forgive me, Philip, for interrupting your tete-a-tete, but may I ask what is the meaning of this?" Philip returned no answer.
Be assured that it was not to ask you to listen to gloomy sermons on the, to others, not very interesting fact of my approaching end, but rather for a joyful and a definite reason. One wish I have long had, it is that before I go, I may see my son's child, the little Caresfoot that is to fill my place in future years, prattling about my knees. But this I shall never see.
That man was my ancestor in the eighth degree, old yeoman Caresfoot, and the occasion of his speech was to him a very important one, being the day on which he planted Caresfoot's Staff, the great oak by the water yonder, to mark the founding of a house of country gentry.
Presently it turned and saw him, and he recognized the great grey eyes and golden hair of little Angela Caresfoot. "Angela, my dear, what are you doing here at this time of night?" he asked, in some surprise. She blushed a little as she shook hands rather awkwardly with him. "Don't be angry with me," she said in a deprecatory voice; "but I was so lonely this evening that I came here for company."
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